


Aseity

by Issay



Series: Amalgamations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actual Death Eaters and not fluffy bunnies, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Death Eaters, Economics, Exposition, First War with Voldemort, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child fix it, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intrigue, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Politics, Pureblood Society, Rise of Voldemort, Slytherin Pride, Wizarding Politics, so much exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issay/pseuds/Issay
Summary: It's 1974 and the wizarding world is in crisis. A new political power is emerging out of the shadows, ready to take over in these dark and turbulent times - times of their own making. First war with Voldemort has already begun, even if witches and wizards of Britain don't know it yet.You know this story. You know how it ends.Or do you?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that has been going through my head for years now. Not much is known about first war with Voldemort, other than that it was long and dark. I've tried to fill in the holes and in the meantime an entire cast of characters was created.  
> "Aseity" follows Rowling's canon to the best of my ability. You will find here familiar names and completely new ones as well as events that were mentioned in sources others than books (like Pottermore). It's finished and has a sequel (also finished) so you don't have to sorry that it'll be discontinued.  
> Have fun, don't be afraid to comment and I hope you'll stick with me till the end :)

_ London. December 22nd, 1975 _

 

"Good then, are we done, gentlemen? Splendid. Have good Yule celebrations and we'll gather here again next year for the budget meeting. Adjourned!"

The small crowd filled out of the room rather quickly, leaving only two middle aged wizards, both in dark winter robes. The taller of them, one with a graying beard and elegant round golden glasses, Robert Mulciber, cast the last ward on the scroll with the transcript of the Chamber of Commerce meeting, and smiled at the other man tiredly.

"We are rather fucked, aren't we?"

His companion snorted inelegantly and searched for his leather gloves, fashionable ones with a sewed-in warming charm. He looked to be the same age as Mulciber but where Robert looked every bit like the scholar he was, Aldric Lestrange had the looks of an aristocrat, clean shaven and with long dark hair tied at the back of his neck. 

"We as the society or we as the Chamber? Because yes, the society is thoroughly fucked by this little gathering of smarmy bastards who wouldn't know good business if it jumped out of the Forbidden Forest and kicked them in their small, pathetic nuts."

Mulciber laughed and turned towards the door in order to leave.

"You spend too much time with Anton, dear friend, it's rubbing off on you."

"Is that the only concern others have? My language patterns?"

The wizard stopped.

"Indeed, it is not. But let's not talk about it here and now, it's not the suitable place. Drop by tomorrow around the afternoon tea, we can discuss it at length in the privacy of my study," offered Mulciber with a careful, warning look. Not that he had to send any warnings, they both well knew about the long-lasting spying spells that were still active in the room. After all, they were both casting them a few hours before.

"As you wish. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

They parted without any additional words exchanged, as by now they were well used to rather non-verbal ways of communication. The elegant wizard lingered in front of the Chamber of Commerce's building for some time. When he was sure Mulciber had disapparated, slowly he made his way towards the Diagon Alley in the soft snowfall of the December evening.

Surprisingly, he was alone in the narrow, cobblestone street leading towards the bigger and more commerce-focused alley. Usually at this time of the year it was crowded, streets of magical London just bursting with people doing late Christmas shopping or just watching the shop displays that during Yuletime were simply extraordinary. But now life has left the streets, snow filling them instead.

It wasn't just the lack of people, thought Lestrange, turning left into the Diagon Alley. Every couple of shops there was a 'for rent' sign, or just an empty window. It seemed as if there were no more wizards in London anymore.

"Damn crisis," muttered Aldric Lestrange under his breath, seeing that his favorite bookshop was now another empty space available for rent. Yes, the great crisis of 1974 didn't show any signs of stopping. Ever since the incompetent fools working in the Ministry pushed forward their pro-Muggle legislation, everything went to shit. Not surprisingly, the economy was the first to go. Ministry workers seemed to not understand that without the additional boost of Grindelwald's nearly fifty year war and then rebuilding, wizarding economy was a very fragile balance of spending and earning. When the new legislation added trade with Muggle world to said balance, well... Books weren't magically copied by specially qualified wizards anymore, they were printed on those blasted Muggle devices that could be operated by fewer men! And then ready to wear clothes appeared in shops, much more affordable than ones made by hand and magic in the fashion workshops of wizarding London, Paris, Rome and Berlin. Everything from Muggle cookware and furniture to soaps, shoes and even Muggle foodstuffs became easily available, more often than not for lower prices.

The economy dropped and left thousands of wizards in desperate situation.

Aldric almost slipped on an icy patch, he made a last minute grab for a windowsill of a building he was just passing. Of course. The Alley wasn't even de-iced because the city council couldn't afford to pay more than one caretaker who only worked during the day. What a disgrace!

Fortunately, there was almost no one around to see him.

Of course, the non-human workers were only now on their way home - Lestrange nodded to a couple of Gringott's goblins but didn't stop to chat and neither did they. Times were dangerous, after all.

With the economy declining and making ends meet being tougher than usual, there was a strange raise in the brutality on the streets. Crime rates went up, which was considered by the Ministry to be a serious moral crisis of the society. What a pile a bullshit, thought Aldric angrily, seeing a lone child in tattered clothing, begging on a street corner. 

He dropped a galleon into the little girl's hands.

"Go on, sweetie, get home. It's too cold for you to be out and about," the wizard said in a warm tone and ignored the child's grateful thank-yous. He could afford the charity, fortune gathered by his forefathers would keep another generations of Lestranges comfortable, economy being in crisis or not. 

He sighed, returning to his rather grim musings. Yes, the crime wave was still swelling with many wizards being desperate and despising Muggles who seemed to thrive. Why should Muggles live in comfort and prosperity when wizarding children are hungry? Why shouldn't wizards just take what is rightfully theirs, using magic to level the field? It was unfair, making witches and wizards hide their skills and at the same time opening their markets to the Muggles.

Yes, why indeed.

Anger was raising in the good magical people of Britain. If there is something one cannot forgive, it's someone else having plenty when they themselves have not enough. So there were whispers about protests, maybe even an open rebellion. Auror forces were used by the Ministry like a Muggle police, sent to robberies and domestic disputes. This, in turn, caused grumbling in the law enforcement that they cannot do their jobs enforcing laws that are stupid. And so the fragile balance was shattered, chaos was reigning the streets. Or, well, at least that's what it looked like if one wasn't amongst the happy few who knew better.

Aldric Lestrange was many things but uninformed wasn't one of them.

It's an age-old knowledge: if you want to take over a country, you can't do it by force. Gellert Grindelwald has tried with some success, his armies quickly destroying their enemies but the brutality of his war caused the raise of the resistance. As the war waged on the continent, more and more lives were lost, dwellings were leveled. In the end, Grindelwald lost his war and would be remembered forever as a monster and tyrant, not a genius and visionary he had been.

Lord Voldemort watched Gellert Grindelwald fall and learned from his mistakes.

Open war wasn't an option, he had to destabilize the country first. At least, that was the plan in the beginning, in the late 1950s after Tom Riddle returned from his decade-long continental quest for knowledge and power. He did, indeed, return a changed man. Still lofty and power-greedy, like he was at school, but now there was steel to him. An inner strength that inspired both fear and awe in Aldric. That's why he followed his old friend. That's why they all have swore their oaths and eventually took what became to be known as the Dark Mark.

Aldric smiled to his thoughts, slowly making his way through the Alley. He had time to waste, getting home wasn't tempting yet. He stepped into a small bookstore, still deep in thought, to pick up the latest Potioneer Monthly.

In the beginning, their plan was simple: establish Tom's persona in the wizarding high society, then destabilize the country, make the Minister look like a fool and eventually win the popular elections for Tom Riddle, the future Minister for Magic. But sometime between the long meetings filled with planning, and tiresome parties and salon discussions that made Tom a rising star of the wizarding society, the plan had changed. Yes, destabilize the country, but then take over by force. Destroy the opposition before it has time to establish itself. And then turn towards the Muggle world.

As the years went by, they also grew darker and darker still.

Their numbers rose. What once was a group of Slytherin students calling themselves Knights became a dynamic group of wizards and witches that had a hierarchy, a name, a sign recognized by now in the society, and a leader.

Death Eaters.

Aldric almost snorted while paying the clerk. If he thought Knights of Walpurgis was a stupid name to call themselves, Death Eaters set a new record. He and Anton had spent many evenings in the quiet solitude of Lestrange's bedroom, just laughing at the idea. And the masks, Merlin's balls, the masks were ugly. Terrifying, yes, but at the same time impossibly ugly. They did their job at least - once the attacks on the Ministry's supporters started, everyone knew about the masks but no one knew the faces they hid. Suspicions were ever present. Anyone could be "one of these masked freaks" - and anyone could come home after a long day only to find his possessions destroyed and a ghostly Mark of a skull and a snake looming in the sky. 

Slowly but steady, with every attack the Death Eaters assured their position new players on the ever moving chessboard of politics and power plays.

The pro-Muggle legislation was a stroke of genius, Aldric knew that. After all, he was the one who proposed it. Hell, he and Tom wrote most of it, and Mulciber used his truly terrifying arsenal of soft manipulation methods on the poor idiots working for the Ministry. At the same time, other Death Eaters worked their way through the Ministry ranks to mid- and high level positions, establishing a wide net of spies.

Lestrange rubbed his arms absently. The warming spell was starting to dissipate, his walk was taking way too long but he needed some time with only his thoughts. It was beginning to be too dangerous to share them with anyone.

Acquiring spies was surprisingly easy. A blackmail here, an Imperio there and after a few years of work their intelligence gathering was more than efficient. It was just splendid. And after the people of the wizarding Britain let their officials know that with the economy crisis they could no longer stand to be idle, Ministry was even easier to steer in the right direction. Members of big trading clans were invited to sit in the specially created advisory bodies, like the Chamber of Commerce. Meetings were long and dull, at least so far, but they couldn't allow anything to be not under Death Eater control.

Especially with Dumbledore on their scent.

In 1970 Albus Dumbledore felt the need to find himself a new enemy. "Old bastard, wasn't Grindelwald enough for him?" raged Tom, but Aldric knew that at the same time Voldemort was thrilled. An easy conquest would have been too dull, Tom wanted a challenge. A nemesis, if you will. And Dumbledore made a splendid enemy. 

At first, his rag tag band of Gryffindors, misfits and other broken things wasn't anything to be afraid of. But once Aurors decided to follow Dumbledore, things got serious. The main goal of taking over the Ministry from the inside was paralyzing the sizeable law enforcement branch in which they had no influence and only a moderate number of spies. Aurors could be dangerous to their plans, they had to be controlled before Voldemort could make a move out in the open. But they decided to join Dumbledore.

Tom wasn't happy.

There was some grand speech about destroying the enemy with his roots, about the pure wizarding blood winning and Muggle supremacy coming to an end. Aldric didn't listen, not really. He has heard that speech a few dozen times already. But apparently it was successful in rallying the troops, the Death Eater numbers swelling considerably over the last months. Even Aldric's own progeny, two idiot sons, as well as his daughter in law decided to join Voldemort's march for power.

Aldric wasn't sure what to think about it but it sure as hell made him look good in the eyes of other Inner Circle members.

With a snort and a huff, Lestrange took one last look at the dark, snow-covered Alley and disapparated.


	2. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A. Lestrange to A. Dolohov, May 1957

 

_ Anton, my friend, _

_ You will probably be delighted to hear that one of our oldest and dearest has returned from his long voyages. Please, forgive me this lack of usual pleasantries at the beginning of the letter but as you can probably understand, I am elated beyond words. He has changed some from the last time we have seen him - but it is a positive change. His conviction is stronger, his vision of the future much clearer than it used to during our school days. I, for one, am happy with this turn of events, for now he is seeing a goal at the end of the long and winding path he intends to take us on. _

_ I continually hope that my letter finds you in good health and that soon you will be able to join us here in England. I have been hearing many good things about trading agreement with Russia you are currently negotiating, hopefully meaning the negotiations are coming to a fruitful end. R.M. has been asking about you, I have pretended not to know anything. The knitting circle has already too much to talk about anyway. Maybe now with T.R.'s return things will calm down. _

_ As usual, your friend and servant, _

_ A.L. _

Dolohov chuckled at his best friend's ornamental style and waved his wand, casting a complicated revealing spell. The words on the page blurred, letters changed place, creating a completely different content.

_ Anton, my dearest, _

_ Forgive me the secrecy but the idiot wife has taken to reading my correspondence and going through papers on my desk. One of those days I'm going to leave a particularly nasty curse, maybe then she'll learn her place. Any help with that? _

_ I miss you more than words can describe. Anyway, I'll show you the full extent of my feelings once you've finally came back from that place forsaken by gods and civilization.  _

_ Riddle is back and he's more fucking mysterious and lofty than he used to. So, everything's as usual. He's crashing with Avery's right now since he has literally no place to go and from the looks of it, Marius' missus is not overly happy with their guest. Still, better them than me, I guess, though I like to think I have more control over what madam Lestrange does (or doesn't do). _

_ Anyway, apparently Tom has found what he was looking for in the Balkans - I know that he visited Nurmengard and had a chit-chat with Grindelwald, about what, I cannot say. My sources didn't know which makes me more than a little worried. I assume we'll be hearing about world domination and taking over the wizarding Britain sooner rather than later. Still, I'm not a huge fan of the idea but we'll see where it leads us. _

_ I must warn you though, be careful after you've came back. There's something dark and nasty about him these days. It's better to appear completely devoted than skeptical. _

_ With love and hoping to see you soon, _

_ A. _

Dolohov smiled and burned the piece of parchment with a snap of his fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

The parlor was filled with scent of pipe smoke. It twirled and danced between the five wizards currently deep in the conversation, slowly seeping into their well-made, comfortable robes and changed the color of their armchairs from green to grayish.

"So the export seems to be a failed venture, I've heard. Is that right, Lestrange?" asked Corban Yaxley, their host and at the same time the youngest of the men gathered in the impressive parlor. Aldric Lestrange took a sip of his drink and smiled politely to indulge Yaxley. Smile did not reach his eyes, cold and calculating.

"It is certainly not the most reliable source of income, if that's what you're asking."

Antonin Dolohov, seated next to Lestrange schooled his expression to be one expressing interest, not a sardonic smile. The dueller - as well as other men in the room - knew that Yaxley family's funds were severely depleted by Corban's rather costly lifestyle and the economic crisis that still held wizarding Britain in its claws.

"Even the Balkan dwarves don't want to buy from us," added the patriarch of the noble House of Black. "Every time I look into the books of my endeavors, I am grateful that my ancestors left me with a sizable fund to fall back on. Business is just terrible these days."

"I know exactly what you mean, Orion." Anton raised his glass filled with red wine and in the light of a mid-winter afternoon sun the liquid looked like blood. "To our forefathers, wherever they are."

Aldric noted with amusement that for the meeting Anton allowed his heavy, Eastern European accent to sound in the vowels of his speech.

"I've had to let some of my people go nevertheless," confessed Mulciber after taking a sip of his poison of choice, fine Irish whiskey. "Septimus Weasley was one of them."

Lestrange's eyebrows went slightly up, surprise showing on the man's face.

"I had no idea he was still working for you, Robert."

Mulciber waved his hand, family rings on his fingers gleaming in the sunlight.

"They are not my friends and I find their ways to be of wretched sort but the Weasleys are still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If we won't stick together, we'll all fall."

Orion Black snorted, and then coughed. It was never a secret that the old wizard's health wasn't too good but after his son's deflection, Orion's cough sounded worse and worse with every meeting, Aldric noted.

"I'm not sure if I want to stick with people of their kind. Pureblood or not, they've been mingling with the Muggles and mudbloods. Blood traitors, that's what they are."

"Honestly, I have to agree with you," commented Yaxley, visibly relieved by the change of topic. "And the registry of the pureblood families is old anyways. Times are changing, gentlemen, there are many new names that should be included. Isn't that right, Dolohov?"

The dueller only bowed his head in silent thanks, probably swallowing another comment. Just like most knew about his own peculiarly close friendship with Aldric, Corban's illegitimate child with a mudblood girl twenty years his junior wasn't a mystery either.

"Speaking of changing times," started Mulciber, reaching for the carafe, "have you heard? There was an attack on the Kinnear house last night. Both of them are dead."

That got him everyone's attention. Orion Black poured himself more wine and turned towards Mulciber.

"It wasn't in this morning Prophet, hem hem, was it?"

 _'Don't be daft, you old fool. He knows about it because he was doing the attacking'_ , supplied Aldric's mind immediately but the man said nothing, instead pretending to be interested in the news as well.

"Oh no, I've heard it from one of my insurance workers. Apparently there was a skirmish with those men in masks, you know, those attacking Muggle lovers and idiots supporting the Ministry. Someone cast an Inferno spell, house burned down with everything inside. Good thing their children haven't returned home from Hogwarts for the winter break."

The Black patriarch just shook his head.

"Everything's going downhill, gentlemen. Kinnears weren’t particularly smart, the lot of them, but it's a family with long traditions. Can't trust the Ministry to protect us anymore, that's what I said to my lady wife, and she agrees. Grimmauld Place will be undergoing some, hem hem, renovations. So we can protect ourselves. From the Ministry fools and other idiots, too."

Aldric and Anton exchanged glances. It wasn't the smartest thing on Mulciber's part to start this conversation. They both knew that Guinevere and Barthemius Kinnear were avid supporters of the Order of the Phoenix and that their house was used as a contact point for the organization. In order to prevent the public from supporting Dumbledore's little army, Voldemort ordered his faithful Death Eaters to put some fear into the hearts of the good people of wizarding Britain.

"When it comes to the Ministry, I suffer an utmost lack of faith in this damned institution. Have you heard yet?" asked Lestrange in an authoritative tone. "There is a plan in the Minchum's fraction to put a special tax on the wealthy pureblood families! And only pureblood."

"I've heard about it," supplemented Dolohov. "Ministry needs more funds, what for, I cannot say because no one knows. But there are rumors that the Aurors refused to take care of the... lesser crimes, and now new force is needed. Something fashioned over the Muggle world, of course."

"The policemen. Or militia men, I can never remember," murmured Mulciber and emptied his glass. "Well, gentlemen, it was enlightening as usual but I have other business to attend to. Yaxley, if you'd be so kind, where do your anti-apparition wards end?"

As Mulciber stood up, their host joined him and shook his hand vigorously.

"Just take the left path from the main entrance of the house and go until you see a figure of a mermaid. Wards end behind her."

Black's snort was left unnoticed by Yaxley as the youngest wizard in the room left in order to walk Mulciber to the exit hall.

"Little moron," muttered Orion and also stood up, supporting much of his weight on a black, richly decorated staff made from polished wood with silver incrustation. "Well then, since our host so graciously informed us of the perimeter his house's defenses, I'll also take my leave. Have a good evening, gentlemen."

As the old wizard hobbled out of the study, Dolohov refilled his glass.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he muttered softly, looking at the portraits of Yaxley’s long dead relatives that decorated high walls of the room.

“This being visiting other people’s homes, Anton, or this being pretending to like it?”

The dueller didn’t have time to reply because their host came back.

“I’m delighted you haven’t left yet,” he started, plopping back onto his armchair. “I wanted to talk about…well, you know what.”

The last part he said in a hushed voice, as if afraid they were being listened to in his own home. Lestrange schooled his features into a pleasant smile but Anton, having less experience pretending or simply not caring anymore, winced.

“About the Dark Lord, you mean.”

Yaxley nodded eagerly.

“I was hoping… Well, to be honest, I was hoping for a one on one, a private audience if you will. I’ve been supporting him for some time now, as you know, and I hope I can be of more service in a more…official capacity. If possible, of course. Which I hope it is. Possible, I mean.”

Lestrange raised his hand in an impatient gesture.

“No need to tell anything else, friend. I will personally speak with the Dark Lord on your behalf and relay your kind request.”

“Thank you, Aldric, thank you so much! Can you interest you in more sherry? And can you tell me anything more about the Kinnear ordeal?”

“What happened to the Kinnears is none of your concern, Corban.” It was Anton’s turn to glare at Yaxley, and use a hard tone with a hint of a threat in his voice. “It was wrong of Mulciber to even mention the topic. Are we clear, Yaxley, or do I have to talk with the Dark Lord about your…curiosity?”

Now the younger wizard looked positively panicked – sweat appeared over his brow, his skin lost any color and became ashen. Corban struggled, looking for words, but Lestrange didn’t want to hear any more idiocy. Calmly, he put half-filled glass away and got up. Dolohov followed his lead, twinkling in his eyes suggesting that the dueller deeply enjoyed this little show of Death Eater force.

The name was still ridiculous, though.

“Don’t worry, Yaxley, I won’t mention this to Him,” Lestrange said almost kindly. “Of course, unless you want to know anything else…?"

“No, no, I’m so sorry! I won’t ask another question, I swear!”

“Make sure that you remember it. Thank you for the lovely afternoon, Corban. We’ll take our leave now.”

With that, the two Death Eaters exited the room, passed through the hallway and left the mansion, stepping into a sunlight-drowned garden. Their host was left behind and as they walked towards the mermaid statue, the blissful silence hung between the two of them.

Sill not exchanging a word, the two wizards disapparated with two quiet ‘pops’.

*

“So that was a rather unpleasant way to spend half of our afternoon, don’t you think?”

“Oh, get over yourself, Anton. And take your bloody shoes off, for Morgana’s sake, there’s mud on the bedcover.”

“Here, better? A cleaning spell. Aldr, you’re a wizard, act like one. Hey! Did you just…”

“It was a simple Evanesco spell, Anton. I’m a wizard. I’m acting like one.”

Dolohov snorted and closed his eyes, head resting comfortably on Aldric’s pillow. The owner of said pillow – and, in fact, the whole bedroom – was sitting in the armchair situated between the huge bed and a stained glass window.  After some consideration he too rid himself of his shoes and propped his feet on the edge of the mattress.

“You should write to Tom,” muttered Dolohov sleepily. “Tell him that Yaxley is finally ready to do something other than being a boring, tiring nuisance.”

“Yes, I can see your appreciation for our newest asset from a mile away, Anton. Chin up. Maybe now His Darkish Highness will allow you to skip the social meetings, parties and mingling. Though you have to admit, it’s still better than in the sixties.”

“You’re not setting expectations very high, I hated the sixties.”

“You don’t remember the sixties, you were drunk most of the time. And on strong pain potions, may I remind you.”

Dolohov winced but didn’t open his eyes.

The sixties were rather terrible for both of them, really. Aldric had one small child at home, his son Rabastan, born in 1958, and older Rodolphus, already away at Hogwarts. The missus was hounding him for another baby but Aldric, who married his wife under the pressure of his family in a very young age, couldn’t be bothered. And in the beginning years of that decade he didn’t exactly have a mood for thinking about children. After all, he was grieving.

In 1962 an epidemic of scale fever swept through the wizarding Britain. Most wizards and witches just had to take a few days off work – they had some unusual skin problems, two days of high fever, but that was it. Even the children went through it smoothly – some more than other but overall there was no reason for the public to panic. Of course, the Prophet had to publish some announcements about cleaning charms and importance of washing one’s hands after visiting public places.

No one had foreseen what happened next.

First warning sign was the influx of pregnant women appearing in St. Mungo’s, suffering from the disease. They went through it with much more difficulty and many of them didn’t survive it, taking their unborn children with them. Among the women was Clementine Dolohov, Antonin’s beloved wife and Aldric’s dearest friend. She had been five months into her pregnancy, much too early even for the wizarding medicine to save the baby.

Antonin’s world had completely fallen apart.

He locked himself in his townhouse and refused entry to all, even Aldric, who was grieving in his own way. Lestrange shielded his friend from Tom Riddle’s growing impatience, born from frustration of having one of his assets unable to do anything.

“He was your friend before he was your asset, my Lord,” Aldric reminded him coldly after listening to yet another tirade during the Knights’ meeting. “You used to remember about that.”

Eventually, Lestrange with some help from Mulciber and Avery, managed to get through to Dolohov – and so Antonin took up residence in the Lestrange Hall, much to Genevieve Lestrange’s dismay. Aldric’s spouse wasn’t too fond of her husband’s best friend, especially in the light of rumors surrounding the inseparable two. With both of them being married, it didn’t look suspicious but the gossiping housewives knew better. Talks about their illicit affair, a love triangle with Clementine Dolohov, and even questions of her unborn child’s parentage were asked and repeated in kitchens, parlors and salons of the wizarding world. But neither of the men cared for rumors at that time. With Anton half out of his mind, seeking relief in a bottle of Firewhiskey and pain relieving potions, and Aldric trying to keep his friend from killing himself, what other people had to say was of no importance. From now on they had only themselves and the world had no business with what happened behind closed doors of the bedroom they’ve shared back then.

After couple of months Genevieve finally won the battle and Dolohov moved back to his own mansion, cleared beforehand by Aldric’s house elves, and empty of Clementine’s things, now stored neatly in the attic. The part of the building that was supposed to house his unborn child’s rooms, was magically sealed and hasn’t been open since.

Little did Genevieve know but her husband had a splendid memory and almost unlimited funds. Soon after she found herself in the Lestrange Hall’s wing furthest away from Aldric’s own part of the house. When she tried to storm into his study, she had found barrier spells so powerful no amount of curses and screaming could break through it.

Aldric was very grateful to Anton for including masterful silencing spells in the barrage of charms and wards now surrounding a bedroom with two walk-in closets, a study, a winter garden, a duelling room, a library, and a sizeable living room.

Genevive might have won the battle but she had lost the war. To add insult to the injury, Lestrange wasn’t a merciful victor. With a little help of the Knights, pretty soon the society ladies knew that missus Lestrange was put in her place by her own husband, who now wanted nothing to do with her.

Aldric opened his eyes and with a shake of his head got rid of the last shadows of his memories. Even a brief mention of their clever, kind Clementine made him feel sad and old. She was gone for years now but sometimes it still felt as if she had just went out for a little while and will be back any second.

A soft snore reminded Lestrange that he wasn’t alone in the room. Anton was fast asleep, combination of boredom and alcohol always making him drowsy. Aldric smiled tenderly, waved his wand wordlessly, conjuring a blanket, and covered the sleeping man. Then, on silent feet, he went into his study to write a short note to the Dark Lord, who for sure was already impatiently waiting for news.

Corban Yaxley had no idea that he was an important cog in the machine. As a Ministry employee on a fast track to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he would be a priceless addition to Voldemort’s ever growing web of spies and blackmailed confidants. Dolohov, Mulciber and Lestrange were gaining his trust and friendship for years now, much to their own dismay. But what Tom wanted them to do, they did. Aldric smiled to himself. Yes, the Dark Lord would be pleased with his faithful Knights – and he could just hope that the next assignment would be less boring.

*

"Are you ready?" asked Anton a couple of days later when they were both in Dolohov's sizeable bedroom. Aldric turned from a full-sized mirror he was standing in front, his heavy, charcoal black robes barely moved. In his right hand he was holding a silver mask. Lestrange smiled tiredly, taking in the sight of his best friend, dressed in exactly the same fashion.

"I know I won't be more ready than I already am. Let's get this over with."

The two men looked at each other grimly and held an old, worn-looking "Advanced Potions" book between the palms of their left hands. Lord Voldemort's special summons included a portkey and instructions to take their masks but arrive with their faces unobstructed by anything. When the clock standing in the corner of the darkened room started announcing midnight with quiet chimes, they disappeared.

It wasn't often that they were called to a place they couldn't apparate to - of course, the Death Eater meetings changed places and venues as often as it was possible, since both Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix members were determined to locate them. Anton knew more than Lestrange about Riddle's little side-project of establishing less temporary headquarters, but Aldric never asked and Dolohov never offered any information. He might have been just as well sworn to secrecy but Lestrange simply didn't care for the venue. In his opinion, the meetings were an unnecessary torture and didn't enjoy them in any way.

Mulciber, when the topic of the conversation strayed into that area, just smiled enigmatically and said that everything would be revealed in due time.

With a heavy thump, the two wizards landed on a patch of grass and sand. Lestrange took a deep breath - salt and water, cold wind, faint smell of a storm somewhere in the distance - and opened his eyes, immediately regretting it as they watered in the freezing gusts.

"This is certainly not the scenery I've been expecting," he grumbled as Anton led him towards a looming dark shape of an old house standing on a cliff. The seagulls over their heads cried and the waves crashed into the rocky shore with deafening roars.

"Are you kidding? It's perfect for him," laughed Anton, clearly not bothered by the freezing temperature. It was so cold, Aldric started to wonder if they were still in Britain, or if maybe they've been transported to some Scandinavian country.

As they were slowly making their way towards the house, all around them figures started to appearing, similarly disoriented and surprised as Aldric had felt.

Mulciber, accompanied by Cenric Nott and Marius Avery, met them by the entrance to the building.

"Makes an impression, doesn't it?" he called out in a cheerful tone.

"Just charming," Aldric's sardonic smile earned him a snort out of Nott and a friendly punch in the arm from Avery.

"He's not happy because it's so cold," laughed Anton, though if it was an attempt on defending his friend or not, no one could say. Mulciber smiled and gestured for them to enter the house.

"Come on then, let us warm ourselves while we wait for the rest to arrive."

Together they have crossed the threshold and found themselves in a cavernous space of enormous proportions, fit to hold over ten thousand people at least. It was dark, the only sources of light were lit candles floating in the air above the men. When Aldric looked up towards the ceiling, he couldn't see a thing - it was drowning in the darkness.

At the end of the hall there was a small elevated platform, no doubt meant for someone to stand on it and give a speech. Aldric groaned inwardly at the prospect of yet another 'rally the troops' speech from the Dark Lord.

"He's planning ahead, isn't he?" Nott looked around with wonder. Slowly, men in robes were filtering in but Lestrange knew that even if every single Death Eater appeared tonight, they wouldn't fill even half of the available space.

Mulciber was leading them towards the platform, their steps making almost no sound on the lumpy rock beneath their feet.

"Yes, not to spoil anything but it's supposed to be our permanent meeting place. Can you feel the magic crackling in the air? This place is surrounded by the amount of wards, spells, curses, traps and enchantments that make Hogwarts' defenses look like a work of an amateur."

"You're very proud of it, Robert," noticed Avery with a false smile and something dark and cruel shadowing his eyes. "The Dark Lord has to be very pleased with you."

The master of manipulation politely bowed his head but left the comment without reply.

Robert Mulciber was one of the strange ones. After Hogwarts he left for Russia and took the advanced studies in manipulative magic, far away from the Ministry's eyes. It didn't take long before his name was well-known in the scholarly circles but the general opinion was that Mulciber was a man not afraid of breaking moral and ethical barriers in his work. Not many wizards outside the Eastern Europe wanted to cooperate with him so Lestrange assumed that his friend would stay in Russia indefinitely. But then Tom Riddle returned from his long voyages and the old Knights of Walpurgis were called back from their different paths of life.

Mulciber had honored the call. He came back with a young wife in tow, Joanna, and not long after their son Enos was born. It wasn't a secret that Robert had loved his spouse dearly, Lestrange thought with a hint of jealousy, as she was a humble and quiet creature who seemed content to take care of the household matters. Mulciber was continuing his studies unperturbed, and at the same time cooperated with Aldric to create a financial empire. It wasn't as if they needed money, no, they both invested heavily in the beginning. But the thing about revolutionary work is that it costs money and Voldemort's movement needed a steady flow of funds.

When Mulciber, Lestrange and Dolohov worked on establishing business and making connections in international wizarding world, Avery, Nott and (grudgingly) Rosier started an impressive undertaking of introducing Tom Riddle to Britain's high society. Those days, along with Nott's commentary in private, were a source of great entertainment of the head of the Lestrange household.

As brilliant as Tom always has been, some social norms were beyond his understanding which is why the trio had to start with a visit to a barber, then moved to filling his wardrobe with suitable dress robes, shoes, ties, monogrammed handkerchiefs, and other accessories no wizarding gentleman could forget about. Tom, of course, understood why it was important for him to fit in - but the situation when his school friend were more experienced and well-versed ones was grating on his nerves and he let them know about it every step of the way.

The rest, as they say, was history. Tom's great intelligence and charm were more than enough for the well-bred lords and ladies to overlook his mysterious parentage (after all, the name Riddle wasn't one of a known wizarding clan) and sometimes lacking manners. Their little social offensive of late 1950s and 1960s proved to be a success and gathered a sizeable number of supporters who were now slowly gathering in the hall, in small groups or lurking alone near the walls.

"My lords! Such a fine evening!" a young voice called out to the Knights and Lestrange turned to see Lucius Malfoy walking towards them with a spring in his steps.

"Ah, Lucius. Very good to see you in this crowd." Anton shook the young wizard's hand, the rest of their little group just nodded in wordless greetings.

"And, truly, it is a crowd. We even have some of our younger prospective members, the Dark Lord had kindly extended an invitation to them and since it's still the winter break, they could arrive. Master Mulciber, master Avery, your sons are already here."

Avery forced a smile. Strained relationship between him and his son, Baruch, was a source of gossip more than once already.

"You are very helpful, master Malfoy. Come, Robert, let's greet our heirs."

As the two wizards made their way towards the group of youth gathered nearby and Nott walking away to chat with some familiar men in the corner, Lestrange and Dolohov were left alone with the strikingly blond boy. A boy, not a man. Soon, though, thought Aldric with a slight smile.

"So who are the new young faces, Lucius?" he asked out of courtesy. Malfoy sent him a grateful smile, the silence was getting less comfortable with every heartbeat.

"All Slytherins, of course... That ugly girl is Alecto Carrow, next to her is her younger brother, Amycus. Nasty rumors about these two but they are believers, a Muggle killed their parents in some kind of a vehicle accident, I don't know the details... you know Augustus Rookwood, I'm sure, he's graduating this year and wants to be useful to us, work in the Ministry. Evan Rosier, obviously, young Mulciber and Avery to his left... Young Regulus Black, very smart kid, to the side with Severus Snape. Master Dolohov, I was hoping I could interest you in this particular young man."

"Oh?" Antonin looked vaguely interested and sent a glance towards a very thin boy with lanky black hair and a nose of a truly impressive size. "And what should I take interest in, master Malfoy?"

To his credit, Lucius didn't miss a beat.

"When he was sorted to Slytherin, I didn't give him much thought either. But soon it turned out he not only was a superbly competent first year, he also knew more dark spells than any seventh year around. He's sixteen, without a doubt future Potions master or maybe a master dueller. And he creates his own combat spells, sir."

Anton looked at the boy Malfoy was talking about once again and slowly nodded.

"Well then, in that case I'll be delighted to meet this exceptional young man. Maybe you two could drop by the," here he looked at Aldric, who in turn smiled slightly "Lestrange Hall in the tea time?"

Malfoy, very well trained by his upbringing, didn't even raise an eyebrow at the place he was supposed to take Severus to.

"Splendid. Oh, I should go back to the younglings, if you'll excuse me..."

Aldric looked at the boy's back for a moment as he went to join the group of his young charges. But at the sound of loud, female laugh coming from the entrance, he winced and glanced at the entering gaggle of black-robed wizards.

"The stupid, the stupider, and the queen of idiots have arrived."

"You need to stop calling her that, Aldric, she's your daughter in law."

Lestrange snorted quietly.

"That's exactly why I can call her whatever I bloody want to. Honestly, I can feel the generations of my forefathers tremble with fear for the fate of this family when I look at the three of them."

"Hush, we'll talk about it later. Here they come."

Lestrange rolled his eyes, smiled politely and turn towards his progeny.

"Father," Rodolphus shook his father hand first, followed by Rabastan. Bellatrix curtsied with a false smile plastered on her face - way less believable than Aldric's, noted Antonin with glee - and kissed Lestrange Senior's cheek, leaving a smudge of blood-red ridiculous lipstick she was insisting on wearing. Dolohov wordlessly cast a quick cleaning charm and received a grateful look for his trouble.

"Such a marvelous place!" gushed Bella with as much enthusiasm and elation as a twenty five year old woman can muster. "Really makes an impression of the Dark Lord's greatness, doesn't it?"

Rodolophus quickly agreed with his young wife but Rabastan's lips trembled slightly, as if he was stopping himself from smiling. Anton noticed this with a pleasant satisfaction. Maybe his younger son wasn't so stupid after all. The older was beyond hope, though. He had to be a complete moron if he truly didn't see - or care - that Bellatrix was besotted with Voldemort.

At first, Aldric thought it's just a phase - young and easily impressible woman meeting an older and infinitely powerful man, the attraction was understandable. Rumors made rounds, Lestrange family name wasn't substantially hurt by them but they still annoyed Aldric to no end, and amused Mulciber, his business partner. Anton patiently reminded him that this ridiculous fancy of Bella's would pass and soon they would see another generation of Lestranges being born. She would turn her mind to her home and children once they appear, he reasoned.

But time has passed and even though the topic of progeny had been breached more than once, nothing substantial came out of it, much to Aldric's frustration.

And there they were again, Bellatrix excited and hopeful that her beloved master would finally notice her. Rodolphus, the tamed and humbled husband, trailing after her as she left their little group to join some friends.

"He really should just show her where her place is," commented Rabastan with disgust ringing in his voice. "Like you did, Father, when Mother tried to meddle."

Anton couldn't stop himself anymore and burst out laughing.

"Well, well, well. Looks like at least one of your sons inherited this big brain of yours."

"It's called being reasonable, Anton," said Aldric but smiled. "You're obviously right, Rabastan, but I'm afraid your brother is too blind to see it or too weak to make it happen. That's what happens when women coddle their sons for too long, they are seen as pathetic. Ah, I see our Lord finally decided to grace us with his presence."

The Dark Lord stood in the middle of the platform, completely silent, as if waiting for the room to notice him. Immediately, the crowd fell silent, even hushed conversations had stopped and it seemed that the gathered wizards and witches were holding their breaths. Slowly, Riddle uncrossed his arms and stood tall, his black robes moving, flowing, even though there was no wind. Somewhere to Aldric's left Bellatrix sighed with admiration. Voldemort wasn't wearing his richly adorned mask, his face was serene and in some weird way beautiful.

"Welcome, my friends, my brothers." His words were perfectly audible. Lestrange knew it was an effect of a magical enhancement but just as well it could have been the silence that filled the cavernous space. "Welcome to Tintagel."

Aldric chewed on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snorting. He should have known it would be something lofty and with layers of subtext upon context. Damn Antonin, he could have warned him that the name was of the ridiculous sort. But Voldemort wasn't done yet, his pale face was almost glowing with elation.

"This night symbolizes a new beginning for us, a raise of our power and strengthening of our bonds. For tonight my most loyal will be given an honor of receiving my Mark. Those of you who have proven themselves to me, those who have been with me since the beginning and those who made sacrifices to make our glorious purpose come true... They will form the Inner Circle. They will be your role models; they will give you ideals you can strive to become! And through you we will be victorious!"

The room exploded with thunderous applause. Lestrange and Dolohov joined it, as did other Knights though most exchanged glances at the news. The only ones not looking concerned were, as usual, Mulciber and Riddle.

Voldemort raised his hand and the noise was cut short.

"Brothers! Sisters! Those of you who will not receive the Mark tonight, I ask this of you, do not become offended. Use it! Become better! And you will be rewarded!"

Once again, his last words almost drowned in the sound of applauding crowd. This time, he didn't silence it, no, he seemed to rejoice in it. Voldemort had drawn out his wand and nodded towards Mulciber. The wizard bowed before him and, without Riddle having to ask, bared his left forearm and presented it to the Dark Lord. The tip of Voldemort's wand touched the unblemished skin there and Mulciber trembled. For a moment Lestrange thought he could smell the odor of burned skin.

When Mulciber stood up, Aldric saw an image of a snake coming out of a skull, left on his friend's forearm by the Dark Lord. He flinched.

The sound had subsided by now and Voldemort spoke again.

"The Mark, my friends, will allow me to call upon you if the need arises. It also offers you full access to Tintagel at any time, if you should need it. But first and foremost it marks you as my equals. As my most faithful. Our noble undertaking is now etched into your skin."

As Tom moved away from the center of the platform and stepped down, into the crowd that had immediately divided for him, Lestrange was overtaken by a very bad feeling crawling on his back. Dolohov was receiving his Mark now, not even a muscle of his moved, but Aldric knew he wasn't happy. The wizard probably even started combing his brain for a good way to cover this rather conspicuous tattoo.

Riddle, of course, as if sensing that his old advisor had strayed with his thought, chose this particular moment to stand in front of him, brows raised slightly.

"Aldric?"

"My Lord," answered Lestrange, almost through clenched teeth, and bowed like Mulciber minutes earlier, baring his forearm and raising it so that Voldemort could leave his brand. Just before the tip of the wand touched his skin, he felt a cold bite of a Numbing Charm desensitizing his skin.

"Thank you," he whispered shortly after that to Dolohov, when Voldemort moved on to other Death Eaters. Dueller chuckled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

"They look so happy," sighed Bellatrix from afar, watching faces of those lucky wizards who were now receiving their Marks. "Such an honor."

"It will be us sometime soon, Bella, love. I just know that," said Rodolphus with a tender smile and tried to touch her shiny black curls. Impatiently, his wife batted away his hand from her hair. Rabastan exchanged secret, mean little smiles with Augustus Rookwood and their mate, Barty Crouch. Junior, obviously, though young Lestrange knew that soon they would be pressured to try and use Senior's position in the Ministry to their advantage. He welcomed the challenge.

"Wonder if it hurts," muttered Baruch Avery. Rabastan tried very hard not to snort. The kid was only fifteen, if it was up to him, those kids wouldn't even be here. He took a longer look at them and nearly rolled his eyes with impatience. Avery, Amycus Carrow and little Black were standing in a small group, looking rather scared and out of place in the cheerful crowd. But not all little kids were afraid. Amycus' older sister, Alecto, looked fascinated at the tattoos. So did Severus Snape.

"Thinking about what spells were used, eh, Sevvy?" laughed Lucius Malfoy. The kid with lanky hair sneered.

"You can't tell me that you don't see how incredible this is! And it's being cast non-verbally! It's..."

"Hush, my young friend. Then you'll be overjoyed to hear that tomorrow we'll be taking our tea with the creator of this spell."

Enos Mulciber burst out laughing.

"By Merlin's smelly underpants, Lucy, the poor lad is speechless! You're a merciless man!"

Malfoy only smiled.

*

"It itches. Is it supposed to itch?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Maybe because you've invented the damned thing, Antonin?"

Dolohov grumbled something into his pillow and burrowed deeper under the covers. Aldric looked at him, huffed and put away the book he was reading. Wordlessly, he cast a darkening spell, as well as few privacy ones. Just in case.

"So what he can do with those blasted tattoos, Anton?" he asked quietly while making a short work of getting some of the blankets Dolohov wasn't hogging and covering himself. He sighed contently.

The heavy body on the other side of the mattress moved towards him, sending ripples through the charmed fluffy filling.

"He can call for us, the Mark will get dark and it will hurt. When you touch it with your wand, you'll be apparated to Tintagel or wherever he wishes you to appear. It's virtually impossible to remove so don't even try. Polyjuice will transform it, though. Couldn't work that one out."

"What if one would wish to cut off their own arm? How would this work then?"

Anton shook his head in the darkness.

"It would move to the right arm so don't try anything. Especially since he'll know something happened to the Mark."

Aldric tapped Dolohov's clavicle with one finger.

"What do you mean?"

"They are all bound to his magic, he'll know if one of us dies or if someone tries to remove their Mark."

Lestrange was silent for a long time. Eventually, he spoke again, shaking Dolohov out of his pleasant slumber.

"Can he listen to us with them? Can he kill us remotely?"

Anton turned onto his side so he was facing Aldric and reached for the other man's arm. He squeezed it with force that didn't really shock Lestrange but still made him concern.

"I'm begging you, promise me that you won't try to remove or mask it. No, he can't spy on us, he can't kill us with those... Which doesn't mean it wasn't on the list of his requests when he put me and Mulciber to the task."

"And yet you seemed surprised tonight. Why?"

It was Anton's turn for a moment of silence. For a minute or two only their breaths were audible in the darkened bedroom in the most secure wing of Lestrange Hall.

"It's not...finished. Not complete. Something made him use it before it was ready. And you and me both know he doesn't spook easily."

Aldric's fingers searched for Anton's, and closed them in a strong, warm hold.

"So I assume there was something you were still working on and didn't have time to put it into the formula. What was it, love?"

Dolohov sighed heavily.

"He wanted a way to be able to locate every person wearing his Mark. It was doable and I've found a reasonable method amongst the memories from the Treasury but the timetable was changed and he needed a useable spell."

Lestrange cursed softly under his breath and shuffled closer to Dolohov, seeking body heat and maybe a little bit of comfort. Not that he would ever admit to that. But then again, he didn't really have to.

It was nearly dawn before sleep found the two Death Eaters.

The same cold winter dawn welcomed Lucius Malfoy home as he exhaustedly walked towards the entrance of the Wiltshire manor through snow-covered grounds. His house guest, Severus Snape, followed him in silence, though Lucius knew the boy well enough to be able to say that something was troubling his young mind.

"Do you want a drink? Firewhiskey if the best for good dreams," he offered once the door of the silent, empty Manor closed behind them. Almost immediately, a house elf appeared to conjure a roaring flame in the fireplace of the grand parlor situated on the right side of the entrance hall they were standing in and then stood by, awaiting orders. A good servant, thought Lucius. Just like we stood for the Dark Lord today.

"Actually... Yes, please." Severus bit his lip and followed Malfoy to the parlor, immediately taking a seat in a comfortable armchair. Lucius took a seat on the other side of a small coffee table standing between two armchairs and said to the still waiting elf:

"Grabby, two glasses of Firewhiskey, neat, and a plate of crackers. Move, you useless creature! We won't be waiting for you the whole night!"

When the elf delivered his drinks and the plate filled with freshly-baked crackers, Severus was silent for a little while, looking at his drink. Firewood cracked in the flames, the room was still dark and pleasantly warm, making Lucius more and more drowsy.

"Does it ever bother you?" he asked eventually. "How Vol... how the Dark Lord seems to consider us only tools? Even tonight, making a system, acknowledging some as better than others..."

Malfoy sighed softly. Ah. That again. The topic he has heard in the conversations of many young supporters of the Dark Lord, something he too struggled with once. Fortunately, for him that time was long in the past and now he could serve his young protégée with good advice that maybe one day would be passed on to another generation of Death Eaters.

"Listen to me carefully, Sev, because we'll be speaking about this only once. Dark Lord's vision of the world, which we both agree is a splendid one and we both strongly support it, requires a revolution. And revolutions are pretty much more civilized wars. They need soldiers. To win one, you need a well-organized army that works together as well as one of complicated multi-layered spells of yours. And armies need hierarchy, they need leaders. Do you worry that you won't be useful? That you won’t fit well enough to get the Mark"

Severus looked down at his feet, clad in old, worn shoes. That was all Malfoy needed.

"Sev, stop thinking about it. Honestly, you think Baruch Avery will be better than you? Or the two Carrows? Be honest with yourself right now. You knew more during your first year than those fools will ever know."

"But...my parentage, Lucius. I'm half-blood, you know that. I'm no one, from a family of nothings and no ones. It's as low the low can get. How can I ever stand in one line with Lestranges or Black and see myself as their equal?"

Lucius threw back the rest of his drink before he answered.

"No, you're right, you're not their equal." A more sadistic part of young Malfoy was satisfied with a flash of hurt on Severus' face. "You're better than them. So their families have a long history and their parents got money. So what? Dark Lord doesn't need history and funds, old pal. What he needs is loyalty and skill, and you have both in overabundance. Now, go to sleep and stop worrying about tomorrow. Dolohov will be delighted to meet you and I'm willing to bet that after quarter of an hour I'll be left alone to chat with that old bore, Lestrange Senior, while you're having fun in the study with Antonin."

Snape nodded resolutely.

"You're right, I should go to sleep and have a fresh mind for the meeting. Thank you for advice, Lucius, and for the drink. You're a good friend."

Malfoy smiled and nodded goodbye as the sixteen year old boy left the room. He waited a moment more, to hear the sound of steps dying out in the corridor, before groaning and rubbing his temples.

"You do a splendid job grooming this boy, my son," said a flat, unnatural voice. Lucius opened his eyes to look at the portrait of his own father, Abraxas, returning the stare from the wall it was hanging on. "Even if he's not of proper bloodline."

"Yes, I know," he muttered. "He's a rare talent. You would have offered him a job on the spot, no doubt, if you were still alive."

The portrait huffed; Malfoy knew that his father's image gated it when he was reminded that the real Abraxas was long dead and rotten in his grave in the family crypt. Lucius left the parlor without another word and slowly made his way to his own bedroom.

Soon he would share it with a woman, he knew, and sometimes wondered if Narcissa would make him change many of his little habits. Going to bed at five in the morning probably was something young miss Black - future lady Malfoy - wouldn't tolerate. And neither was drinking before going to sleep. Oh, well, he thought with a silent laugh, one had to make sacrifices if he wanted to ensure his family's future.

But as went through the motions of preparing himself for bed, there was a thought at the back of his head and sounded especially loud when he looked at the unblemished skin of his left forearm.

_Does it ever bother you that you're just a tool?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's actually Chapter 1, part 1 because I'm that asshole who writes 15k word chapters and then regrets it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter a day and we'll finish this before NaNoWriMo hits.

A wizard walked through silent, empty corridors of the Ministry for Magic in the middle of an especially gloom spring evening. At the first glance, it wasn't anything particularly strange - after all, this was a Ministry dealing with wizardry. Its hallways were always filled with a mixture of talented and mediocre, obnoxiously rich and the struggling ones, wiser and stupider; just like in any other part of the government branches. Of course, this particular evening working hours have long passed and only a few on-call workers, as well as the cleaning staff, were in the building. But this wizard was in a hurry so maybe there was some sort of an emergency?

The thing was, this was no ordinary wizard.

The man dressed in obnoxiously yellow, swirl-patterned robes was one of the most powerful wizards in the world. He was a scholar, an inventor, and since 1970, also the headmaster of the most prominent wizarding school in Europe. Word was, that he could have been the Minister, that the position was offered to him on several occasions, but he refused each time explaining that he preferred teaching and working with young minds rather than dull administrative duties. And no one was brave enough to mention that being the Hogwarts' Headmaster also brought him some dull tasks regarding administration.

Albus Dumbledore smiled kindly to an elderly witch casting polishing charms on the marble floor and turned left, entering a set of offices. He passed the now empty desk of a secretary and knocked on the wooden door of Aurora Diggory's office.

The door opened, revealing a cozy-looking room filled to the ceiling with books, sets of files and sheets filled by hand-written notes. Behind a massive desk sat a tiny, thin woman with bright blond hair and smiling green eyes. She stood up, seeing Dumbledore, and gestured for him to enter. Once he did, the door closed with a quiet click, and Aurora cast a few privacy spells.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience but I wasn't comfortable with travelling to Hogsmeade," she said, shaking his hand. "Please, sit down. Oooh, sorry about those!" The witch quickly moved the floating stack of papers from where it was levitating over the one free quest chair. The other one was drowning in paper as well. "You know how the roads are these days, you never know when you can get attacked and by whom. And it just couldn't wait for the next Order meeting. Would you like some tea? And cookies?"

Albus couldn't help but laugh. Once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff.

"Yes, I'd love some, my dear. This spring is unusually cold and wet, have you noticed? We have an epidemic of flu and cold, the new Madam makes a batch of Pepper-up and in a matter of moments has to make another one. Oh, splendid, thank you. Are those ginger cookies? My favorites. But, you didn't ask me to come to chat about school over tea. What is it, Aurora?"

The young woman flushed slightly and started burrowing through the stacks on her desk, clearly looking for something. Eventually she handed Albus a sheet of paper with official Ministry headline.

“This is a small, monthly memo from the Department of Finance and Commerce. No one ever reads it, except for maybe a few people from here but that's the Department of Security's job, isn't it? Anyways, I missed it at first but a co-worker of mine brought it to my attention. Here, at the bottom. List of the notable donors and contributors."

"Ah. Many familiar names, I have to admit."

"That's what I thought so I started digging deeper. Mulciber and Lestrange are some sort of unofficial-official advisors but it's being kept away from the public so that no one thinks the Ministry's incompetent. Lucius Malfoy, that's Abraxas' son and heir, I think… he and the Rookwoods are very tight with both Bagmans. Ludo was recently boasting that his Department has found a new source of financing big sports events. Rosier made a substantial donation to the Auror's Widows Fund, the Blacks funded a new wing of St. Mungo's..."

Albus put the paper sheet away and rubbed his eyes tiredly, then weaved his fingers through his impressive beard and pulled lightly. It helped him focus, even if it looked a bit peculiar. He was Albus Dumbledore. After what his brother had done to that poor goat, it was really hard to make himself care about other people's opinion.

"They want the public to see them in a certain way," he said eventually, after giving some thought to the matter. "These donations, advising, active participation in pullig the economy out of the recession - this makes them look like good people who are concerned with this country's well-being."

"One could think that there would be some resentment amongst the populace for the rich families. After all, they don't exactly understand what it is to struggle to make ends meet."

Dumbledore nodded and pointed at the memo.

"But this paints them as rich citizens who share their wealth and time to fix things the Ministry ruined. Malfoy, Mulciber and Lestrange families have enough business between them to create a serious amount of work opportunities. Blacks, Averys and Rosiers donate, Rookwoods are paying for school books, clothes and equipment for the students from less-fortunate homes, Carrows arranged a two-weeks long seaside vacation for younger children from poor families..."

"Oh, Helga's fluffy pancakes, do you think they want to influence the Ministry? Or even take it over completely for... For him?"

Slowly, Albus stood up.

"I don't know, Aurora, but you were right, it's a concerning matter and it's good that you alarmed me. I'll notify Charlus Potter immediately. If the pureblood families have their people in the Ministry - bought, blackmailed or simply stupid enough, we'll need a list. You did good, my dear. Thank you."

After bowing to her, Dumbledore left in a hurry, his long steps carrying him towards the Floo-connected public fireplaces in the Ministry's lobby. A heavy burden set on his shoulders again. Tom Riddle was speeding up his timeline, towards what madness - this was still a mystery but the man's ambitions were clear to Dumbledore even back when the so called Dark Lord was still a schoolboy. And now this merry group of his, still the same boys, now vicious men, were at his side.

"Bloody Slytherins," muttered the Headmaster. He reached out to a goblet filled with sparkly green powder, threw it into the flames and stepped into the fire.

As he started spinning, for just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw something move in the Ministry's empty entrance hall. But then everything disappeared in green flames.

 

"So Headmaster Dumbledore met with Aurora Diggory in the Department of Security last Monday, late in the evening. Do you know what they were talking about?"

"No, sire. They must 'ave cast a privacy spell or somet'ing, I 'aven't 'eard a t'ing, sire. But 'e left in a 'urry. Used t'e Floo."

"And nothing else in the next days? No suspicious activity? Visitors?"

"Only one, sire. Auror Potter, sire."

"Very well, Seafield, continue watching her. Payment as usual."

Aldric ended the firecall without waiting for the man to reply and stood up, beating the soot out of his robes.

"This can't be a coincidence," muttered Mulciber. Both wizards were in Aldric's heavily-guarded study, as was their custom every Thursday morning. Usually they took care of business, discussed markets and left the Death Eater related topics alone but some things simply deserved to be made an exemption from the rule. "Fucking Potter has been acting like a bloodhound for the past two days."

"And Dumbledore met with her on Monday... Whatever it was about, he must have went straight to our good pal Charlus with it. Do we know if the Aurors Office signed off on his little digging quest?"

Mulciber shook his head and reached for his cup of tea. He grimaced, hearing rain drops pattering against the window glass. Truly British weather, he thought to himself.

"No, but it must be if Department of Security is involved. And hell, Aldric, you know that Dumbledore trusts Aurors, most of the people working in the Office either are in the Order, or support it. We have no friends there."

Lestrange heavily sat down on a moss-green sofa and sighed.

"Tom won't be happy. Potter has been digging around for signs of corruption and he'll find some. Not that he can connect it to any of us but are we sure Rookwoods or Rosiers were equally careful?"

"You know they weren't," sneered Mulciber. "I told Tom to wait, that including them in the fragile politics play was too risky. They're careless, the lot of them. Potter will find something."

"And then we're fucked."

"Pretty much."

Heavy silence fell over the room, both men unwilling to ask the question that was on their minds. Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed noon. Finally, Aldric broke the silence.

"So, which one of us gets to use our pretty tattoos and inform Tom of this cheerful fuck up?"

There was something really nasty in Robert's smile.

"I had the pleasure of telling him about the Department of Mysteries fiasco last month. Your turn to get your ass to Tintagel, Lestrange."

The wizard stood up, accio'ed his winter cloak and moved towards the exit.

"I trust you'll lock up after yourself, Robert."

When he disappeared, Mulciber took another sip of his tea and sighed with pure contentment.

 

They say time is a good teacher. Well, whatever virtues Tom Riddle has learned over the years, patience and tolerance for mistakes were not amongst them. Lestrange has left the Tintagel after listening for two hours to Tom's ranting and hissing, paused from time to time by yelling about incompetence and how if a man wants something done right, he has to do it himself. But it wasn't the fury that scared Aldric. It was the quiet rage that had shown its ugly head a few times during the conversation - precisely when Lestrange tried to argue with Tom's scathing remarks. Yes, Aldric was scared and not reaching for his wand cost him a lot during the whole pathetic scene. When he was finally dismissed and allowed to leave the underground level of Tintagel, where Tom apparently lived now, he did it with pure relief.

With a pop, he apparated in Dolohov's garden and quickly made his way towards the entrance.

"Master's in the library, sir," informed him the ever helpful house elf after taking Aldric's soaked cloak. Lestrange didn't have to ask further, he knew the way. Dolohov sizeable, well-equipped library took the whole second floor of the building so finding it wasn't an issue - though finding Anton in the labyrinth of ceiling-high book cases, reading nooks, armchairs, and clean scrolls of noting paper floating in the air was a bit harder.

Aldric had always suspected that the labyrinth had moved, just like Hogwarts staircases. Not that he had any proof.

"Aldric! I didn't expect you so soon!"

Anton rose from the armchair he was sitting on, surrounded by notes floating in the air. With a gentle touch he pushed away the inkwell and quill, also levitating, towards a small writing table standing nearby.

"I had to relay some bad news to Tom," muttered Lestrange, hiding his cold face between Anton's neck and shoulder and took a deep breath. Dolohov smelled of old paper, pipe weed and ozone. He welcomed the familiar scent just like he welcomed strong arms keeping him upright. Lestrange felt peculiarly light-headed and weak. "He threw a fit."

He more felt Anton sigh rather than heard it. Dolohov helped him sit down on a little sofa he conjured - no doubt it moved from another part of the library - and called for an elf.

"Strong tea with a drop milk and some toasts with pine honey for master Lestrange," he ordered. "Coffee for me. Black, no sugar."

The creature disappeared immediately and Anton dropped to his knees facing Aldric, who was sitting on the comfortable piece of furniture and looking miserable. He took the man's freezing cold hand into his own, warm ones.

"You look like shit," he informed Lestrange. "What the hell happened?"

"I have no idea," sighed the wizard and rubbed his face tiredly. "One of my Ministry sources reported that Dumbledore met with the Diggory woman in Department of Defense on Monday. Charlus Potter has been digging around in our business looking for Morgana knows what in the last two days. Do the fucking math."

Dolohov groaned, not having to ask. Lestrange and Mulciber both vented to him about Tom's inability to see that some of his men were simply too stupid to do the things the Dark Lord expected them to excel at.

"I assume it wasn't an easy conversation."

"You could say that. Remember that time when he lectured us about the importance of Azkaban prison after Rosier fucked up that merger?"

"It's foggy. I think I'm still in denial. And it lasted almost hour and a half, he lost me somewhere around thirtieth minute into the whole thing."

Lestrange snorted. Warmed by the flames roaring in the fireplace and good company, his face started to recover its usual colors.

"Yeah, well, this one was even longer. And he was so mad, Anton... I have no idea why he was mad at me personally because I had nothing to do with this shit, but there was a moment I've been rather concerned."

Dolohov rose from his knees and sat down next to Aldric, still holding his hand, now finally a little bit warmer. Lestrange's head leaned on his shoulder.

When he looked at Aldric again, the man was fast asleep.

 

'UNKNOWN ASSAILANTS ATTACK DEPARTMENT OF DEFENCE'S EMPLOYEE!

Aurora Diggory, one of the multiple witches and wizards tirelessly working to ensure our country's safety, had been attacked on her way home from the Ministry yesterday evening. Mrs Diggory told us the two men who attacked her were "wearing black robes and scary masks looking like faces of dead people, made from something that looked like a metal, maybe silver". This being consistent with stories of other attacked survivors in the recent weeks, the Prophet has to finally ask the uncomfortable question: if Ministry is not able to protect its own people, how can we entrust it with our own safety?

READ MORE on Page Three

INTERVIEW WITH RETIRED AUROR, MERRILYN RIVERDALE on Page Seven

SELF-DEFENSE MAGICAL COURSES on Page Eleven

PROTECT YOUR HOUSE TODAY! GUARDING OWLS, ALARM RATS AND MINIATURE DRAGONS, AVAILABLE TO BUY ONLY IN HOGSMEADE OR VIA OWL POST!'

Mulciber put away the morning edition of the Prophet and closed his eyes for a second, mentally preparing for the shit show he was sure would start any minute now. He didn't have to wait long. The Dark Mark on his forearm soon started burning and Mulciber had to grind his teeth from the intensity of Voldemort's fury.

With a heavy heart, the wizard touched the Mark and disapparated without a sound.

*

When years later Aldric looked back at the events of that particular spring, all he could remember was bone-weary tiredness of long nights stretching into eternity, and hurried discussions with his informants. Hundreds of galleons had been spent in an effort to ensure a constant flow of accurate information about Charlus Potter's investigation. To Lord Voldemort's great disappointment even money wasn't enough to get to one of the Ministry workers from the Aurors Office. For some reason, blackmail wasn't working either, and with Aurors being regularly checked for Imperius Curse, Mulciber's ways of magical manipulation were too big of a risk. It was bad enough that after every failed attempt they had to Obliviate the person who refused them. Aldric figured that they could have expected that fucking Aurors hired only zealots. Fortunately, the cleaning staff, night guards and low-level office clerks had much lower standards of loyalty and usually had a price tag.

But the one constant undercurrent of that busy, damp and sunless spring was fear.

After the failed attempt on Aurora Diggory's life, Dark Lord called in his whole Inner Circle, over fifty men. He singled out the culprit and his associate, two brothers, Martin and Marius Silverstar. Already weary Aldric had expected another tongue lashing, maybe kicking the useless boys out of the Circle, but nothing much. What Tom did surpassed all expectations.

Both young men kneeled before Tom when the Dark Lord raised his wand and in clear, cold voice cast:

"Crucio."

The circle of wizards moved, unsettled, and Aldric could hear sharp intakes of breath here and there. But soon the noises from the crowd became inaudible. Twin screams echoed in the large, empty space of the Tintagel cavern. Lestrange simply stood there, frozen to the ground, his fist holding his wand tighter than necessary. Unable to do anything, unable to face the same fury that caused two men to writhe on the floor, both struck with one spell. 

Eventually, when the screams turned into pathetic little whimpers, Riddle lowered his wand.

"I hope you've all learned your lesson," he hissed and turned to leave. For a flash of a second Aldric could see triumph and almost orgasmic pleasure in his old friend's eyes. But only for that quick little moment.

The audience was over.

"Mulciber? Aldric? Would you..." Anton shook his head slowly, looking for words. "Would you care for some whiskey?"

"With pleasure," answered Robert in a quiet voice. Lestrange nodded and glanced at Lucius Malfoy, slowly making his way towards the exit, looking somewhere between shocked and forlorn.

"I'd say it's time to allow him to come in from the cold, don't you think?"

"Are you sure, Aldric? It's a lot of trust." Mulciber didn't looked convinced, even if he was still mostly shocked. Lestrange shrugged.

"Then let's be careful to not reveal any secrets that should remain hidden for now, shall we? Master Malfoy, wait a moment!"

"Yes?" The young man stopped in his tracks and looked at Aldric with big, scared eyes. Lestrange refrained himself from patting the boy on the back, like one does to calm an afraid animal.

"Come, have a drink with us. It would do you good to be in company of friendly faces instead of being alone in an empty house."

Malfoy just nodded his consent before his arm was locked in a heavy, sure hold and without further niceties, he was side-apparated.

 

"Here, Firewhiskey from the glorious year of 1945. Splendid year. For alcohol, at least."

Lestrange snorted weakly, taking the glass offered by Dolohov and took a careful sip.

"It's not like it was a bad one for us either. Many great things happened, if I recall. But, all that is in the past now," Lestrange sighed and looked around the room. Malfoy was staring into his glass, Mulciber's face was still ashen. His own hands were trembling slightly. Only Anton didn't look worse for wear, but then again, he was always good at compartmentalizing things in relation to Death Eater business.

"I have to say," started Robert slowly, carefully choosing his words," that I haven't seen today's events coming."

"Neither have I," admitted Lestrange quietly. He didn't have to speak up to be heard, Dolohov's study was completely silent.

"Is this how it's going to be now?" asked Malfoy abruptly, looking up. "Serve and you'll be fine, fuck up and you'll be tortured?"

"I don't think he realizes the damage he's done today," muttered Mulciber. "Hate to be the realist but the moral implications of torture aside, if this gets out, we're done. No amount of recruitment and good press is going to fix that."

Dolohov laughed without mirth. He was the only one standing, supporting himself with one hand on the window frame. The other three wizards were seated on various armchairs crowding the small space between books and showcases with rare artifacts.

"It doesn't matter, Robert," he said with a sneer. "Right now every single Death Eater from the Inner Circle is sitting, just like we are, and asking themselves the same question Lucius just asked. And we know how information gets around, after all you yourself have built our entire net of spies on rumors and gossipers. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when."

"So what do you propose we do about this, huh?" Mulciber stood up, anger written on his face. "You're one of his closest, maybe the closest, do you want to go and talk to him about this shit? Or maybe make him apologize? No, Anton, we need to do damage control and we need to do this now."

"But why?" asked Lucius weakly. "Why still follow him after this?"

For a heartbeat, everyone was silent.

"Because whether we like his leadership methods, he's right. About Muggles, about Statute of Secrecy, all of it. You know this, Lucius, deep in your heart. Look into yourself. Think about the day you became the Death Eater. That's why."

Malfoy simply stared at Lestrange and nodded after a moment of consideration.

 

"Are we doing the right thing?" Aldric looked at Anton when Mulciber took a slightly tipsy Malfoy home. "By ensuring them in serving him further, I mean."

Dolohov smiled sadly, studying his best friend.

"If nothing else, it's the way to protect them. If he uses Crucio on two boys who screwed up a mission that clearly wasn't important to Tom enough to order someone from the Inner Circle to do it, what do you think he'll do to traitors?"

"Damn it, you're right." Aldric took his empty glass and reached for the tumbler half-filled with Firewhiskey.

"And, as you say. Maybe it's just a series of bad humor that will eventually pass? We just need a win."

"Easier said than done," sighed Lestrange.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating, please.

'NEW SEASON, NEW MINISTER?

The unrest plaguing the wizarding community all over the United Kingdom doesn't show any signs of stopping. Rumors of strange disappearances of Ministry workers and their concerned families being advised not to publicize the matter are only one of recent sad developments. After quarterly reports have been published, Minister Minchum has refused to comment on the rise of unemployment rate and crime rate. Could this mean that the Ministry has lost control over the situation? Just previous week mister Robert Mulciber had told this to the Prophet reporter, concerning the closing of Butterbeer factory in Liverpool:

"We will of course do everything we can for the wizards and witches who had unfortunately lost their jobs. The choice we as a company had to make was this - either close one factory and save two others in London and Edinburgh, or keep all three operational and have to close down two further down the line. The export programme the Ministry had presented as the solution to the economic crisis has failed. At this point, I cannot say if we won't be pressed into closing other facilities."

As our readers may recall, mister Mulciber is one of the country's leading businessmen whose ventures combined employ over three thousand witches and wizards. 

But, as usually in the last months when it comes to the Ministry, there is more.

Sources say that Aurors Office has taken interest in matters of corruption within the Ministry itself. It may be connected to the Aurora Diggory's case, though others seem to believe that this metaphorical witch hunt is only a masquerade to stop the public opinion from criticizing the Minister and his government's decision.

PROFILE OF AUROR CHARLUS POTTER. FAITHFUL SOLDIER OR HIGH INQUISITOR?, read on Page Four

ECONOMY, HISTORY AND WITCHCRAFT. AN ESSAY, read on Page Ten

LOOKING FOR A JOB? REGISTER WITH SYBIL'S EMPLOYMENT OFFICE TODAY AND GET -10% OFF REGISTRATION FEE!'

Charlus Potter put the newspaper away and looked around with a sneer. In cubicles around him office clerks and low-level Aurors pretended not to notice his stare. Cowards! He knew that at least one of them talked to this blasted Prophet reporter and once he got his hands on the moron who did it, they would learn what kind of mistake they did.

The Dark Lords agents were everywhere these days, watching his every move. Dumbledore said so during the last Order meeting. Aurors were especially important because they were the last stand of the Ministry, its most important line of defense. That's why Riddle's men would do anything to get into their heads, willingly or not.

Once again, Charlus was silently grateful for the obligatory check-ups. Other Aurors maybe haven't seen the signs but the amount of people "missing" minutes and sometimes even hours of their time was a clear signal to him. Those so called Death Eaters were onto him and his investigation into the corruption within the Ministry.

No one was above suspicion. The first thing Charlus did was double check on every Order member who worked in the Ministry. Then he moved to the middle-level management staff in most important Departments. Only Aurors were checked for Imperius signs since it was a lengthy process and demanded additional personnel to be employed. And Ministry was working with a very tight budget these days.

Which pissed Charlus off more than he could say. Honestly, allow the Dark Lord into the Ministry only to save a few thousand galleons? Was it really worth it?

He sighed.

At least his immediate superiors supported Dumbledore and didn't comment too much when Albus personally asked them to assign Charlus this very delicate mission. True, he could have done more if he had more people to help him, but Dumbledore believed in him! A Potter just couldn't fail!

Charlus' sight fell onto the newspaper once again and he grimaced. He could only hope his wife and son wouldn't be too embarrassed by this bullshit profile that terrible woman from the Prophet has created. Bunch of lies. Well, mostly, because he was indeed considered one of the more brutal and unforgiving active Aurors in the force. And yes, there was a complaint or two against him. Or fifteen. Doesn't matter as long as he does his job well. Since only Moody had better success rates than him, he felt pretty safe.

Yes, his son's reaction had potential to be more problematic than the Ministry's but James was recently coming out of his rebel years and acted more and more like an adult. Charlus smiled tenderly. James was becoming a good young man. And so was Sirius, this sad boy who appeared on the Potter's doorstep, soaked with rain, shivering and with two packed trunks levitating behind him. It took a lot of courage to leave the family home at sixteen, and to stand up to his family like that. Charlus and Euphemia took the boy in and quickly learned to love him like he was their own. The Auror knew that young Black had enough money put away to not have to move in with the Potters after graduation but even had the boy been poor, they would have supported him happily.

Still, to ease his own mind, Charlus reached for a piece of parchment and wrote a short note to his son and best friend, just to remind them that what press wrote wasn't always true.

*

Aldric stretched out with a smile spreading on his face, for the first time in the last few months feeling warm and content. He was seated on a reclining chair in an almost horizontal position. Sun was shining, birds were singing in the garden... Yes, it was a good idea to leave the city and move to Dolohov's summer house in Devon. Aldric opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the sight of sunlight-drenched balcony.

The house itself wasn't large, just enough for two men and three house elves. For Aldric it was a well-deserved and sorely needed break from endless firecalls, visits from different associates, lunch meetings, dinner meetings, drinks, teas and Merlin knows what else. Even summons to Tintagel grew more rare once the summer had started. Rosier mentioned that Tom was spending the season personally tutoring their youngest recruits who were enjoying their two month break from Hogwarts and Dumbledore's watchful eye.

Lestrange could sympathize, after all he himself had felt that analyzing gaze more than he would like to remember.

"Would you care for something cold to drink?" called Anton from inside the house and Aldric just had to smile. Sharing those warm, golden hours with him seemed surreal, simply too ridiculously good to be true.

"I would care for some company," he answered with a laugh. After a couple of minutes Dolohov came out to the balcony, balancing two tall glasses of iced pumpkin juice on top of a stack of books. "You could have sent an elf with these, you know."

"Could have, should have, didn't. Sometimes I like doing things the old fashioned way."

"Sap," muttered Aldric as he was handed a glass. He took a sip of deliciously cold liquid and almost purred. Meanwhile, Anton set up shop on the coffee table, successfully taking it over for his books, notes, quills, inkwell and some sort of small jar. After settling all his things, Dolohov took said jar and moved to stand next to Aldric.

"For your sensitive complexion, your highness. Your nose starts to remind me of Gryffindor colors."

Aldric grimaced when Anton started covering his face with sweet-smelling substance but the burn on his face was immediately soothed.

"I've missed this," he muttered after Dolohov finished his task and sat down to his work.

“Sun burns?"

Lestrange laughed softly, the sound nearly inaudible over the constant murmur of the sea and seagulls screaming overhead.

"No, this. No annoying firecalls, no wife trying to read my correspondence before the owl reaches me, even Tom seems to have mellowed and chose tanning over constructing plans to take over the world. It's warm, we're both here, sun is shining..."

Anton reached over and squeezed Aldric's fingers with a fond smile on his face. Lestrange was right. For now, life was good.

*

Unfortunately, the summer had passed too quickly and gave way to a gray, wet autumn. With the late months of the year always came the one thing Aldric loathed more than anything he had to do in order to support Tom in the previous twenty years: family obligations.

Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange had an understanding, enforced mostly by Aldric. It wasn't a healthy relationship, far from it, but it wasn't an unusual arrangement either. Once Rabastan and Rodolphus were old enough to understand certain things, their parents stopped the charade of sharing a life, home and bed. Of course, Aldric's temperamental French wife still had momentarily lapses of judgment and tried to interfere with her spouse's ways, but it didn't work too well. Most of the time she had her life, and Aldric had his. 

But from time to time Genevieve just had to put her foot down and force her husband to attend a family dinner.

"At least this time the queen of idiots won't be present," grumbled Aldric, changing into his dress robes in Anton's ridiculously expansive room turned into closet, filled with garments, shoes and accessories for two men. This self-tying tie was a bit too tight, decided Lestrange with a grimace, and sent it away with a lazy movement of his wand.

"How is Genevieve taking it?" asked Dolohov who was lounging in his pajamas on the little sofa standing in the corner of the wardrobe. Aldric could swear that fucking little sofas were absolutely everywhere in this house - but then again, they had their uses. Sometimes the bedroom was just much too far away.

Take it as you want.

"Not exactly well...green one or dark blue? Yeah, green one...She doesn't know why Bellatrix won't be attending, obviously, madam Lestrange is extremely uninterested in politics so she's been kept away from the Death Eater business. Rodolphus told his mother some bullshit story about an ill relative or something like that."

"But she'll still be the only person at the table who doesn't know the truth. No, the black shoes, they'll fit better and they're more comfortable. You'll be less cranky."

"You can't honestly expect me to not be cranky after this charade."

"I know I'll be waiting for you with fudge cake, good wine and even better company. Let this thought carry you through this evening," Anton laughed cheerfully, strangely happy he doesn't have anything like this to deal with.

"A light at the end of a very dark tunnel." Aldric turned from the mirror with a sigh. "So? Am I presentable?"

"Very handsome. Don't forget to sent the Dark Lord a thank you note for assigning Bellatrix to the Bulgarian mission."

"I already thanked him personally," Lestrange smiled cruelly. "He assured me that he can do it for me every time I feel the need to get rid of her for some time."

"Generous, isn't he."

"Surprisingly. Well, I'm off. Don't eat the whole cake while you wait for me."

Dolohov shrugged, a teasing smile pulling on his lips.

"No promises. If you want a slice, you better hurry back."

Aldric steeled himself and touched the snow globe standing on one of the shelves. Without a sound, he disappeared, only to appear again in his own dark walk-in closet.

The eternal portkey was one of Lestrange's favorite items Dolohov has ever given him - it was very much illegal, yes. They could find themselves in a bit of a trouble if it was ever found, he knew that. But it was a quick and untraceable way of connecting two houses, and since it was Anton's invention, it was tuned to his and Lestrange's magic. It would recognize them and only them, for other people looking only like a set of twin, ugly snow globes with a little Hogwarts statuette inside.

With a set jaw, Aldric came out of the closet and went to meet his wife in the dining room.

 

"Rodolphus, how is your wife's...second cousin, was it?"

The older of the two Lestrange sons almost choked on a bite of the shepherd's pie he was eating. Slowly, as if buying himself some time to collect thoughts, he reached for his goblet filled with wine, took a sip, swallowed and smiled politely, absolutely aware of the amused looks his younger brother and father we're sending his way.

"Second cousin's wife, Maman. And, I'm sorry to say it, she has taken a turn for the worse. Bellatrix says they don't expect her to live long now."

Genevieve nodded with a solemn expression on her face. Madam Lestrange was still a beautiful woman, even at fifty years of age - her cheeks were still rosy, her chestnut-colored hair didn't have many silver strands and her figure was still as small and fragile as when Aldric had seen her for the first time during their wedding ceremony. Sometimes he thought that if it wasn't for the circumstances, he would have been able to fall in love with her. Sadly, that wasn't meant to be.

"How dreadful," she commented. "What's the name of the family? We should at least send a card with condolences when the need arrives."

As Rodolphus was frantically trying to "remember" the name, and Rabastan was trying equally hard not to chuckle under his breath, Aldric decided to help his progeny out.

"Enough with the questioning, my dear lady, let us not bury the poor woman before time. Maybe Bellatrix's relative will miraculously survive, who knows. Are we ready for dessert?"

As the house elves arrived with dulce le leche and Aldric had actually peaked up because of the fast approaching end of the evening, Rabastan asked the question. Of course he did. Stupid child.

"Father, do you plan on finding me a girl to marry?"

Absolute silence hung over the dessert bowls. One of the elves wisely refilled Aldric's goblet, even though it was still half full.

"I believe that as the younger son you can have the privilege of deciding about these things yourself. You may remember that I didn't push your brother into marrying Bellatrix."

'...and Salazar only knows, I should have pushed you into marrying a girl from another family because maybe then you wouldn't be tied to a woman who loves someone else, doesn't hide it and makes you a laughingstock of this society...'

Damn, his inner voice sounded just like Antonin.

"But Maman and you..."

Genevieve sighed quietly but didn't say a thing. Instead, she reached for a little, silver spoon and started eating her dessert one small scoop after another.

"You mother and I were in a different situation. And times were different. So no, Rabastan, if you want to marry a girl, you will have to find one yourself." There was something hard and final in Aldric's voice. And his son had enough of common sense to shut up and eat his dessert.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and in a rather uncomfortable silence. It was a true relief when the boys said their goodbyes and both left. Aldric knew that Rodolphus wanted to go home and wait faithfully for his blasted wife but if Rabastan had his way, they would end in a whorehouse before the night was over.

Fortunately for his younger brother, Rodolphus had a very weak will and after a few goblets of wine usually quickly forgot he was married.

"He's too young to marry," observed Genevieve before Aldric left the dining room. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. She returned his gaze calmly.

"I agree," he admitted. "Too young, too stupid and too busy."

The witch quaffed, rolling her eyes in a decidedly un-ladylike manner.

"With the Dark Lord's business? Oh, don't give me this look, my dear husband, contrary to the popular belief I'm not an idiot. I have eyes. And working ears. Many things are being said these days over crochet and tea."

Aldric schooled his features and bowed his head in apology.

"You're right, I'm sorry."

"So. About our son's involvement with your old friend from school..."

"I cannot forbid him, and neither can you. He's an adult wizard. They both are."

Genevieve sighed slightly and rose from the chair she was still sitting on.

"So it's all three of you then."

"And Bellatrix."

His wife actually laughed at that, though the sound lacked joy. She shook her head.

"It shouldn't surprise me, really. After all I've heard about this girl in the past few months... Your Dark Lord has very low standards then, Aldric. And a terrible taste in women."

"Well, her feelings are very much one-sided. But she does make a rather terrible conversation topic, doesn't she."

"Yes, wives of other Death Eaters had many things to say about our daughter in law. Thankfully, your... relationship with Dolohov had prepared me for the endless awkwardness of such conversations."

Aldric's smile was more on the bitter side of things but it was a smile nonetheless.

"No one is without faults. Have a good night."

"Yes, you enjoy yours too."

With that, he left Genevieve sitting in the dining room alone. He had a fudge cake to hunt for, after all.

*

"Saturnalia."

"Yes."

"My lord, is it wise?"

Tom Riddle stopped mid-step and looked at Mulciber coldly.

"My good friend," he started in a dangerously pleasant tone of voice. "You know as well as I do that the tradition of Saturnalia draws from ancient Roman wizards. It's our sacred right to celebrate the same rituals our forefathers did. Do we have to discuss this further?"

The wizard licked his lips nervously and shook his head.

"No, my lord. We don't."

"Splendid."

 

Mulciber was walking to and fro. It was starting to grate on Aldric's nerves but he decided to be patient for his friend's sake.

"Saturnalia," he repeated.

"Yes. Fucking Saturnalia."

"Well, Robert, if Tom wants a party, throw him one. I can't really see the harm in appeasing him this time."

Mulciber stopped his nervous pacing and looked at Aldric wildly.

"A party? He doesn't want a party! Or a feast! He wants revels with fire and steel and blood! He wants human sacrifice to ensure that the gods of the underworld look at him kindly!"

"What? Do I understand it correctly, Robert? He wants to… kill Muggles. For the ancient Roman gods."

"He went fucking insane, yes. I signed up for a peaceful, political revolution, not a fucking festival of rape and torture!"

For a long moment Aldric was silent, staring into nothingness. Mulciber finally got tired of walking around Lestrange's study and flopped onto an armchair.

"We don't really have a choice," finally said Aldric in a quiet, subdued voice. "It's too late to turn back, my friend. You know that. You've felt it too."

"Yeah."

An uneasy silence fell over the two wizards. Slowly, Aldric stood up, poured wine to two goblets and handed one to Mulciber.

"He's made another one then, hasn't he."

"A locket."

"That explains why he's so bloodthirsty, why this darkness inside of him is winning. We enabled him, Robert. We pushed this knowledge into his hands all these years ago. We're responsible to see it through. And even if we don't want to do it... Let's face it. Either we'll shut up and do what he wants, or we're going to end up as the entertainment's centerpiece for his Saturnalia."

"I know, but..."

"It's a dirty job. Look for helpers amongst the lower level Death Eaters, I'm sure there are some deranged personalities in that mass. Let them pick, kidnap and...stock Muggles for the festivities. Don't dirty your hands any more than you must, my friend. Salazar knows there's already too much blood on our hands than it's decent."

"You're right." Mulciber sighed and finished his wine in long gulps. "I'll be too distracted to do it but maybe you could try and find in our resources a way to at least manage Tom's newfound taste for violence and suffering of others? I'm scared that even with layers upon layers of spells that protect Tintagel, this will draw too much of unwanted attention. Especially if it was to happen again."

"Certainly, I'll start with reviewing everything we have on horcruxes and we'll go from there. I'll loop Anton in, if you don't mind. His insight may be invaluable, as you know."

Mulciber just waved his hand and left without any goodbyes.

*

The night of the Saturnalia was exceptionally cold, even for December. And thank the Founders for that. At least Aldric could pretend that the tears were due to the freezing temperatures and his overly sensitive eyes.

In the early hours of the morning he slowly walked through his frozen gardens, slipped through the door unnoticed and continued to his wing of the mansion. He was alone. He needed to be alone, he needed the luxury of not having to open his mouth and speak. Anton would understand, he was sure. Eventually. Once the inhuman screams of the tortured victims would be silent in both of their heads. Once the house elves would wash the odors of burning flesh out of their robes. 

Aldric locked the entrance to his rooms and heavily sat down - now, he fell down onto the nearest sofa. His wand slipped from between his numb fingers and rolled on the old wooden floor.

His wand has betrayed him earlier.

It cast the dark spells like it was nothing, like it was easy. Like he meant it. It might have saved his dignity - few Death Eaters refused their turn to torture the unlucky souls Mulciber's minions have acquired. They themselves were Crucio'ed later that night, when everyone else was too intoxicated and too drunk on blood and violence to notice their screams.

Everyone except Aldric, Mulciber and a handful of others.

Not Anton, though. Anton was in the middle of this madness, giving out spells and curses, casting them on the Muggles like they were cattle or training dummies. Anton, wild, happy Anton surrounded by the crowd, with blood spattering his face. 

Aldric had no idea which betrayal hurt worse, his own or Antonin's.

He would get over it, of course, learn how to swallow around this hard thing that grew in his throat during the night. He could speak and laugh and kiss just like before. But there was something cold inside him, an emptiness that felt cold and incredibly lonely.

During the festivities, his eyes caught Mulciber's a couple of times. The later the hour, the more pity he saw in his old friend's face. So he stopped looking.

He saw his own sons tearing a little boy in two and he could have wept there and then.

He saw Lucius Malfoy, lost and afraid.

He saw Lord Voldemort, gorging on the sights and smells and screams - of pain and of wild, untamed pleasure.

And in a flash of prophetical power Aldric saw past and present, merging, disappearing one into the other. This string of madness that had no end and no beginning. What had started this? Tom's journeys? No. The horcruxes? Grindelwald? Something in Riddle's filthy, tainted blood? Or maybe something darker, something eternal that has been there and will always be?

He didn't know.

He could only hope that their spells weren't enough, that someone heard the screams or that at least someone found the bodies.

Aldric sat there, numb and unmoving, as the night gave way to the cold, pale daylight of a December morning. He didn't react when an elf appeared. He ignored the creature until it went away. Only then had he looked at the cover of this morning's Daily Prophet.

'PRICES OF WANDS TO GO UP AGAIN'

So no one had noticed a thing.

Aldric hid his face in his hands and wept bitterly.


	6. Interlude 2

**C. Dolohov to A. Lestrange, May 1951**

_ Aldric, my dearest love! _

_ Paris is the most beautiful place in the world but it feels too lonely without you. No amount of champagne, macaroons or flowers will make it any better - but I guess they will have to tide me over. I hope that your business in London will be concluded soon and you'll join us before we head to Rome. Anton's been sulking, you know, he's becoming harder to ignore. I tried to drag him to a museum or two but in the end I've had the most marvelous time in Louvre and Versailles. Alone. _

_ You were right, pretending to be a Muggle tourist is so much fun!  _

_ I've spent hours just walking around the city and taking in the sights. Can you believe that Paris wasn't destroyed even a bit during the war? And wizarding part of the city is even more beautiful than the Muggle one (which is pretty magical in its own right). There was also some shopping done here - I've had to hide the receipts from Anton because sulking would quickly turn into arguing. He's just so miserable without you here! _

_ Hopefully we'll do some shopping together after you've came back to us. I miss you, my love, I miss how your presence here makes everything hundred times better. You have to admit, the time we've had in Vienna was pretty spectacular!  _

_ Hope your dreadful French wife (I don't understand why she's such a bitch, every woman I've met in France was incredibly elegant and just so nice - apparently Genevieve took the style lessons but forgot about the niceties) doesn't make your life too much of a hell. I know, I'm terrible. But I selfishly hope that some hell at home will cause you to hurry back to us. _

_ With endless love and missing you more than words can tell, _

_ Your Clementine _


	7. Chapter 7

"I still don't understand why he's sending you."

"Me and five others, including Rosier."

"Exactly! Rosier is the ultimate cannon fodder. I'm willing to bet his son will be the same way. And same with the rest of them. You're clearly the brains of the operation and I don't know how about you, but I wouldn't be overly comfortable with this position. Not to mention that you're going to meet with large numbers of giants and werewolves, you should get a bigger number of capable and competent wizards, Anton."

Dolohov huffed impatiently.

"You worry too much, Aldric. Tom wouldn't be sending me if our people there didn't believe that there's a chance we'll gather substantial support with were packs and giant tribes. Stop fretting so much. I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me."

Few weeks ago Aldric would have smiled and said that he was already missing him, or something of the equally sappy sort. But that awful hard thing was still in his throat, it has been there since the Saturnalia festivities. So he simply swallowed, forced a smile and nodded. Dolohov didn't say anything else, he just took his little bag, pecked Aldric's cheek goodbye and left him alone in the bedroom.

Last year's ending was particularly hard on them, as if Voldemort's orgy of violence and fear opened a chasm between the two of them. Lestrange more often than not questioned if he could trust Anton or not - a thing he didn't have to do for almost forty years. They've both felt the consequences. Aldric spent the Yule holidays with his family, surprising Genevieve who was eyeing him with worry during the duration of it. 

They still haven't talked about it, Anton and him. 

There was a lot of uncomfortable silence between them, of things unspoken and feelings pushed back. Aldric grieved that in his own quiet way, fearing it was the beginning of the end for them. Forty years and all it took was a fucking party thrown by Tom Riddle to make that mean absolutely nothing.

*

"Thank you all for coming." Dumbledore looked around the table at the faces of Order of the Phoenix members. Young and old, hopefuls and cynics. "I know it's inconvenient and that I pulled you away from your families but we have received some troubling news I feel is important to share."

"What is it Dumbledore? Some of us still have paperwork to get back to," grumbled Alastor Moody. The Headmaster had noticed that the Auror's arms were once again covered with bandages. Charlus Potter only nodded his support.

"Tom is sending dispatches to the continent. From what we know, his people will be meeting with giant tribes in Hungary, Russia, Poland and Ukraine. There's also a rumor of some werewolf packs from France and Germany wanting to join the talks but our friends in Paris and Berlin weren't able to confirm them. Warsaw reports giants moving in the Carpathians."

"Who is he sending?" asked Edgar Bones, the ever practical and tactical head of his family.

"We don't know all the names but the most prominent ones are Dolohov and Rosier. Senior, of course."

"Junior is in this year's graduating class, isn't he?"

"Fucking future Death Eater, we should just nip it in the bud while we still have time..."

"Please, Alastor! We've had this discussion before. No punishment before the crime. As much as I don't fancy the thought of unleashing this group of young Slytherins into the world, we have to keep hoping that they won't turn out to be as wicked as their parents."

"It's a lost hope." Charlus' Potter's fist hit the table. Few people sitting near him jumped, Moody had his fingers on the handle of his wand... Dumbledore pressed two fingers to the column of his nose to stop himself from speaking out. "Rosier's boy will be even worse than Senior, just like Augustus Rookwood is already proudly following in his old man's footsteps. Alastor is right, we should just stop them while they're still young."

"They're children!" Emmeline Vance shouted, looking absolutely disgusted with the idea. "What would you have us do, kill them? Imprison them in Azkaban as a preventive measure? You're a vile man, Charlus Potter!"

"Enough!"

Several Order members were already saying something when Dumbledore's loud voice boomed and dominated the small chamber where they were holding the meeting.

"This is not up to discussion, we are not punishing children for the deeds of their parents. Is. That. Clear?"

At least Potter, as well as a couple of other Aurors around the table who shared his views, had the good sense to look sheepish. Moody only grimaced.

"How bad is this year's sort, Albus?" Arthur Weasley smiled kindly, changing the subject slightly. The Headmaster sighed.

"From the children of confirmed supporters of Tom's? Only young mister Mulciber. Next year we have Alecto Carrow - her younger brother graduates year after that, and with her misters Rosier junior and his best friend, Severus Snape."

"Are we sure Snape is a Death Eater material?" Minerva McGonagall looked at Albus skeptically. "Personally I don't like the boy but he's an intelligent young man, too bright to believe in Tom's empty promises and tricks."

Dumbledore sighed sadly.

"Even the smartest children can do stupid things for the want of being accepted, my dear. I feel like we've failed young mister Snape and his peers, pushing them into waiting embrace of the Dark Lord."

"Forgive me for changing the subject," started Dorcas Meadows thoughtfully, "but I find something curious in his choice of men sent as speakers on his behalf."

"What is it?"

She looked at Dumbledore at smiled slightly, nodding to herself. The movement caused her earrings to make a quiet, bell-like sound.

"Rosier and Dolohov, they're muscle and brute force, not diplomatic skills and graces. If he wanted to persuade the tribes and the packs, he would have sent his political minds - Avery, Mulciber, older and younger Lestranges, for sure he has more that we don't know about. We can safely assume he already has Orion Black, why not send him? He's had quite the experience during the Grindelwald war. I don't think it's about convincing their allies. I think it's about conquering them."

The room was silent for a moment, only to erupt in voices a second later.

 

If only Dumbledore knew! Almost at the same time as the troubled meeting of the Order, three Death Eaters had a meeting of their own in Malfoy Manor. Admitting Lucius to their little circle was a good decision, thought Aldric as he watched Mulciber and the young wizard exchange pleasantries. He was already seated in the parlor, warming his old bones near the fireplace.

For a moment, his eyes fell on the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy. The painted wizard bowed deeply. Aldric responded with a bow of his head. He respected the elder Malfoy when he was still alive. Abraxas would have made a splendid addition to Tom's cause. Or, at least, an entertaining one. His son had still a lot to learn.

"Are you well, Aldric?"

Lestrange was started there for a moment but quickly forced a tired smile. He had no illusions, Mulciber would see through the charade but his old friend also knew how important it was to Aldric to keep up the appearances.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Malfoy snorted inelegantly and cast privacy spells. Aldric caught Abraxas' unhappy face - of course, the mix of spells also blocked the portrait's ability to listen to their conversation.

"Maybe because of the last year's absolute fiasco of an event?"

"Don't even remind me," muttered their host. "Wine? Firewhiskey? I have some Russian vodka somewhere?"

"Firewhiskey." Aldric sighed and twirled his wand between his fingers. "This whole situation is completely out of control, gentlemen. Anton and Rosier the Elder Idiot get sent to the continent with a bunch of expendable minions to play diplomats, we still have no way to install a spy within the Order, Gringotts caved and gave the Ministry a loan for additional Imperius checks which is why my only contact in the Minister's Office got flushed out... Let's just be thankful those responsible for cleaning up what was left after Saturnalia did a solid job and no bodies were found. And that the Muggle disappearances weren't tied to us."

Malfoy froze in place and slowly, very slowly turned to look at Aldric with something weird showing on his face.

"Yes, Lucius? What is it?"

"Dolohov and Rosier... They're not on a diplomatic mission, you know."

Lestrange and Mulciber exchanged careful looks.

"Explain," ordered Robert in a hard voice. Malfoy sat down after handing them both their drinks.

"They're meeting with additional...forces the Dark Lord had befriended during his voyages years ago. Allies he didn't inform us of before. It's not a diplomatic mission."

"It's an attack," whispered Aldric, looking suddenly nauseated. He quickly gathered himself and schooled his features into a controlled grimace. "Robert, it looks like we haven't been up to date with everything."

Mulciber sighed.

"It was just a matter of time before he started to keep such things from us, you know that. Well, in other news, Aurora Diggory won't be a problem much longer: my contact at St. Mungo's tells me she's with child and will have to leave work soon."

Lestrange didn't listen to a word they said after that.

 

Genevieve didn't expect anyone to be in the library - after all, Aldric had his own little collection and rarely visited the expansive room, and the boys didn't really have any scholarly needs these days. She pulled her robe around her tighter, it was cold and she had only her sleeping attire underneath. But that marvelous anthology of essays on the nature of transfigurating non-organic into organic matters left her with questions and she was fairly sure she had seen a good, long book on that...

Aldric was sitting behind one of the library writing desks. Genevieve stopped, Transfiguration tome in hand. There was something lost and open and vulnerable in her husband's expression.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly and winced because her voice was still too loud in the completely silent room. Aldric smiled slowly, looking up at her.

"Funny, you're the second person to ask me that this evening. No, I don't think I'm fine right now, if I'm being honest. But thank you for asking."

"Is there anything I can do?" Genevieve surprised herself by asking this and sitting on the chair nearest to him. Aldric shook his head, laughing bitterly.

"Unless you can change the last couple of years, dear, I'm unfortunately beyond any help. From anyone, I'm afraid."

"Even the Dark Lord?"

"Especially the Dark Lord."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out. You always do."

"Some things in recent months went beyond being able to be sorted out, Genevieve. I'm fearful for our children. Hell, I'm fearful for the future of this country, the way things are going."

She took his hand into hers and held to it with a surety he hadn't felt in some time.

"Listen to me, husband of mine. Whatever differences we might have, you've been always a good man who did everything he could to ensure the good fortune of this family. You've always done the things you believed to be the best, even when the path wasn't easy or short. Do not go doubting yourself now. You've come too far for that. You have to see it through."

"And what if it's not the best thing I can do?"

Genevieve was silent for a moment, wondering how much she can tell him, how much to reveal.

"If you deflect - and I assume we're talking about it right now - what will he do to you? To us? To Rodolphus and Rabastan and Bellatrix?"

Aldric's fingers moved spasmodically in her hold but she didn't let him go. She patiently waited for his reply.

"He would kill us," he admitted finally in a quiet, broken voice. "In a cruel, very public fashion. You, me, possibly Anton. The kids would probably survive, maybe they would have enough time to escape..."

"Would they? Escape, I mean."

"No. Bellatrix would never believe her beloved Dark Lord would harm her without a good reason, and she would convince Rodolphus to stay with her. Rabastan would probably stick with his brother, or maybe his instincts are better than this, I don't know... Genevieve, I don't know what he would do."

"They you know what  _ you _ have to do in order to spare them those choices."

She let his fingers slip from between hers and stood up. Genevieve pressed a fleeting kiss on his brow and left, taking her book with her. For a long moment he was sitting there, alone, listening to the howling of the wind in the garden outside. Then, finally, he gathered his strength, rose, straightened his back and slowly made his way towards the entrance to his wing of the Lestrange Hall.

There were letters to be written, alliances and friendships to be rekindled. No, he would not be ignored and pushed aside. There was still too much work to be done.

The wizard was quickly walking with purpose through the sleepy, empty street between two rows of townhouses in the wizarding part of London. It was early evening and in many windows lights were visible but he paid them no mind. His busy brain was focused on one thing and one thing only: his younger son's home, already visible at the end of the street. He knew that many of the wizarding folk were afraid to journey after dark - it wasn't anything surprising, really, the Prophet was filled with news of disappearances and strange accidents these days. It was good that the cautious folk of wizarding community took their safety seriously.

Lord Voldemort wanted them to be afraid to leave their homes. It would be this much easier to rule them once they were too scared to travel and too filled with distrust towards the outsiders. Divide and conquer, indeed. The dividing part of the plan was already in motion.

It was the conquering that had Aldric Lestrange worried.

He stopped in front of a lovely old townhouse and put his hand on the low brick fence, allowing the security magic of the house recognize him as a friend. The gate opened itself for him and he stepped on the stairs leading towards the entrance to the house.

The door opened, revealing his very much surprised younger son, Rabastan, dressed in house robes and most definitely not expecting any visitors.

"Father! What a nice surprise."

"Spare me niceties," barked Aldric and stepped inside once Rabastan hurriedly moved aside to let his father through. "Pour me a glass of Firewhiskey and let's sit down. We need to talk."

The young wizard led him to the parlor, tastefully furnished with comfortable-looking couches and armchairs, cabinets from the cherry wood and a coffee table standing between armchairs situated in front of a rather small fireplace. Green tapestry on the walls made the room look cozy and it was clear to Aldric that his lady wife had something to do with it. Something must have shown on his face, or maybe Rabastan was so good at reading him, because he commented:

"I couldn't have done this whole moving in and furnishing thing without Maman. She did pretty much the whole house for me, my lady friends love it. But, you haven't came all the way down here to talk about couches and landscape paintings."

"No, I haven't." Aldric took the glass filled with Firewhiskey from his son and the two men sat in the armchairs facing each other. "I came to talk to you about the Dark Lord's most burning problem."

"Lack of restraint?"

Older Lestrange huffed with amusement but shook his head.

"No time for foolishness and jokes, my boy. I'm sure that you know about our trouble getting a spy inside Dumbledore's web of trusted people, am I right?"

"Of course, everyone knows that. Old Dumble trusts only his precious Gryffindors. He's more eager to take in Hufflepuffs because old fool thinks them to be slow and easy to manipulate, while Ravenclaw intelligence makes them more susceptible to Tom's teaching, which is why the Headmaster is keeping them at an arm's length. There are no Slytherins in the Order. No Ravenclaws in the circle closest to Dumbledore either."

Aldric nodded and took a sip of a truly exquisite Firewhiskey.

"Dumbledore will never trust a Slytherin. But he will take one in if he himself believes he can use one."

"Use one? As in: use one against us? I'm afraid you have lost me, Father. Explain your plan to my less bright mind."

"The first thing is to install a Death Eater at Hogwarts - it can't be anyone old and not from a legacy family because they'd see right through us. We need someone young. Someone who would look easy to manipulate and who would make Dumbledore think, that he could keep tabs on us by using that person."

"A spy, you mean."

"An infiltrator, if you will. A good actor who could sell the idea that he wasn't bad to the core, that he wasn't a true believer in Voldemort's doctrine."

Rabastan hummed quietly, raking his brain for a name.

"Maybe one of the Carrows?"

"No, the easiest way to install our infiltrator would be to make him a new teacher, or an apprentice. Neither of the Carrow children are clever enough, I'd say. And remember, no legacy families either."

"Well, that excludes young Black and Avery. But what about that kid Lucius has taken to? Sevvy Snape, something like that?"

"Severus. Young Severus Snape. I've met this gentleman some time last year." Aldric tapped his lower lip with his fingers, considering the proposed name. "He's half-blood so he wouldn't be that hard of a sell to Dumbledore..."

"And he's a prodigy, every Master in that castle would kill to have him as their apprentice."

Older Lestrange shook his head with a smile.

"That is actually not a problem, our good friend professor Slughorn has been looking for a replacement for a very long time. I'm sure he would be more than happy to take young Snape."

"And if he's not convinced? After all, he's not a Death Eater, I think. I'm not even sure if he supports the cause."

"Horace Slughorn," started Aldric with amusement audible in his voice, "is a man of simple motivations. He loves knowing powerful people and that's a shallow thing, of course, but he also has an incredible skills in reading a person's potential. Do you know that Tom was a member of Slug Club? Horace was our Head of House and he always favored Tom, even when he was still a young boy. He saw the potential in him, in all of us. You should know, you were in the Club too."

Rabastan sighed, remembering those terrible days of awkward social encounters and being constantly compared to his older brother. 

"And if Severus Snape doesn't have potential to be great and powerful one day?"

There was a cold, merciless gleam in his father's eyes.

"Well. Then we'll just have to convince Horace Slughorn that he does using any method necessary, won't we."

 

Tom was silent for a very long time after Aldric finished presenting his proposition. Finally, he nodded.

"My friend, just when I thought you were ready to retire and reap rewards from years of your hard work, you surprise me again. It's a good plan."

"Thank you."

Voldemort nodded again and, surprisingly, smiled with joy instead of sadistic pleasure. It was a rare sight. Something Aldric hasn't seen in months.

"And it plays very well with an opportunity that fell into my lap some weeks ago."

"Which is? If I may be so curious, my Lord."

"Please, let's save the titles for official meetings." Tom sat back in his comfortable armchair, muscles relaxed, wand hidden beneath his green robes. Now he looked like an old friend, not a bloodthirsty monster Aldric has learned to fear in the last months. "During a private meeting young Lucius Malfoy - I'm sure you know Lucius - suggested a weak link in the Gryffindor pride."

"Oh?"

Aldric decided it would be safer not to comment on the Malfoy remark but he did started to wonder if they were being observed, or if maybe one of their little wasn't as loyal to the others as he thought.

"What if I told you there was a young man - less talented than this friends, always the stupid and slow one, not as handsome and not as popular? An impatient boy with anger and jealousy gnawing at him.”

Lestrange considered it for a moment and nodded.

"Yes, it would be a rare occasion to do some damage to the Order. And a Gryffindor. A spy? Finally, after all these years?"

"Maybe. There is most definitely an opportunity, don't you think?"

"Yes, it would be a shame not to use it."

When Aldric made a move towards standing up, Tom raised his hand and gestured him down.

"Please, stay a moment more. I have two more things I have wanted to discuss with you."

Slightly confused, Lestrange stayed in his place. Tom looked around the small sitting room in the underground level of Tintagel, avoiding eye contact. Aldric felt all of his muscles tense up, unsure what to expect.

"What is it, Tom?"

"First of all, does your younger son have any plans to marry?"

Lestrange blinked, slightly confused.

"I have no projects to marry him without his consent, if that's what you're asking. He didn't mention any girls to me or his mother, as far as I know, so I wouldn't expect him to marry soon. But why do you ask?"

Voldemort shrugged.

"I have plans that include sending several of our younger fighters to the Continent and there were complaints by the heads of other pureblood families that it would create an obstacle in marriage plans."

Aldric chuckled softly, seeing that the topic made his old friend rather uncomfortable. Even after all these years, Tom still didn't fully understand and embrace how did the pureblood society work.

"Well, you don't have to worry about this - but to be completely honest here, I would be glad if Bellatrix finally stopped running around in black robes and a mask, and started thinking more about her husband and family. But that's my headache, not yours. And the other thing?"

Voldemort grimaced slightly, visibly not happy with the news he was going to relay.

"The diplomatic mission in Europe has failed. Dolohov is in the infirmary now, our best medi-wizards are working on him..."

The only thing answering him was the sound of the door closing with a thud.

Lord Voldemort sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went overboard with the length of this chapter but for the life of me I couldn't find a logical place to cut it in. Sorry?

"You're hovering."  
"Of course I'm fucking hovering! You almost died because you were stupid enough to stand between Everard Rosier and the werewolf he pissed off. What were you even thinking? No, don't answer that, I know that you weren't thinking at all. So shut up and eat your soup."  
"Some Firewhiskey would be nice."  
"No."  
"Spoilsport."  
Aldric sighed deeply, feeling a migraine pressing on the sides of his head. It's been three weeks since Dolohov was transported back to London from Tintagel - more than a month and a half since his return from the failed diplomatic mission. He's been in a coma for the first two weeks of that time, and there was a bit of concern he would wake up a werewolf. Killing some fucking shifters would have helped Aldric feel better but Mulciber and Avery were under strict orders to keep an eye on Lestrange and not allow him to murder any of the potential allies. How did Voldemort still see them as allies - he didn't know and didn't want to understand.   
"So..."  
"Anton. I mean it. Shut the fuck up."  
Dolohov was a terrible patient. Once he's woken up - decidedly not a werewolf, as it turned out, mostly thanks to the fact that the night of the attack it wasn't a full moon and the attacker used only his claws - he was constantly grating on Aldric's nerves. Of course, he was recuperating in Lestrange Hall, where he could receive care under the tender control of his old friend.   
That is, of course, if Lestrange didn't smother him with a pillow before the recuperation was over.  
"You're mad at me." Dolohov sounded genuinely surprised. Aldric closed his eyes and counted to ten. And then to twenty.  
"I'm mad at you for not letting Rosier deal with the fact that he angered a creature more powerful than him, I'm mad at Tom for sending you with this sad bunch of idiots, and I'm mad at myself for not ignoring Tom's orders and not going after you, just in case something like that happened. So yeah, I'm mad, it's just a fucking mad-fest up here. Happy now?"  
Anton put away his half-full bowl of soup on the bedside table and gestured at Aldric to come to him with the bandaged arm.  
"Come on," he patted the empty spot next to him on the bedding. "Sit down with me for a second and listen carefully."  
Grudgingly, Aldric left his correspondence and sat on the bed, not meeting Anton's eyes, too worried about what could he see in them.  
"I'm a grown ass man. I can make my own decisions and yeah, you can be mad at me all you want for shielding Rosier. Should have let the bastard die. But he has a kid and I don't so I acted. No, let me talk," he said quickly when Aldric was opening his mouth to interrupt him. "I could have played that one better and I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. That's on me. And that new wrinkle on your face, that's on me too. The silver hair is not, you're just getting old."  
Aldric snorted.  
"Yeah, that's better, Aldr. But seriously, you can't be angry at Tom for believing in my abilities. Sorry for not telling you the nature of this mission, by the way. But we weren't at the best of terms..."  
"Yeah."  
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Anton took Aldric hand in his, slowly, with hesitation.  
"Are we good now, Aldr?"  
It was Lestrange's turn to sigh quietly. At least this time he's met Aldric's eyes.  
"I'm not sure we are. We have some issues, you know that. I have some issues. I don't know any more if I can trust you and that's just bloody wrong."  
"I'm..." Anton started but stopped talking, as if unsure what to say. "I don't know what happened. Back then, in Tintagel, during the festivities. It was just this crowd and this energy, and everything seemed so easy, you know? We're powerful and we can use it. So I did."  
"You tortured and murdered innocent Muggles. Their only offense was that they weren't magical. Anton, where does this end? Now it's Muggles, and then what? Muggleborns and purebloods too?"  
"I don't..."  
"You don't know." Aldric's voice was bitter and cold. Anton winces at the amount of disappointment in Lestrange's voice.   
"I wasn't thinking. Again."  
Aldric sighed deeply, steeling himself.  
"Well, then I figure the situation is clear, Anton. Either you start fucking thinking, or we're through." He stood up and, without looking at the man left alone on the bed, gathered the various letters from little writing table and took a few steps towards the exit. "Let me know when you decide."  
With that, he left and the door closed with a soft click. Anton's outstretched hand fell onto the bedding.

"You're sad," observed Genevieve. Aldric was working in the main library again, choosing to leave wounded Dolohov in his wing alone. He signed a letter, put the quill away and looked at her.  
"Yes. I guess I am."  
She nodded, picked a book from one of the towering shelves and without saying a word, sat down next to him. Calmly, not looking at him, she started reading the treatise on alchemical uses of human blood. After a moment, his quill started moving again, and corners of Genevieve's mouth raised slightly in a tender smile.  
Warm, summer air was coming from the open windows of the Lestrange library.  
*  
Sound of steps and doors closing with a bang shook Severus from his deep reverie.   
"Come on, Sevvy! We're gonna be late if you don't move your arse right now!"  
Snape sighed and stood up, nervously smoothing out his dark robe with Slytherin symbol over his heart.  
"Calm down, Rosier, it's just another end of the year fest. We're not graduating yet, remember?"  
The other boy snorted and together they made their way out of the 6th year dormitory, through the busy common room and into the labyrinth of corridors of Hogwarts' undercastle.   
"So, what are your plans for the summer hols, old chap? With Malfoy again?"  
Severus smiled with uneasiness.  
Only a mere few hours ago he had received a letter concerning his summer - and his whole future. And it wasn't a letter from just anyone, it was from the Dark Lord himself! Severus had no idea that Lord Voldemort even knew he existed, not to mention knowing who he was and showing interest in his 'extreme talents'. The Dark Lord wanted to instruct him on what would be the best line of work for him, in the future!  
The letter gave Severus a lot to think about.  
He wanted to be useful. He wanted to be a part of something great, to be protected by it and never feel alone. He's had that in Hogwarts - fucking James Potter and his little balls-less friends were brave enough to attack Severus only when he was alone. So it was only natural that he wanted to still have it in his life after he's left the castle.  
Dark Lord's instructions made sure he would be useful in more than one way.  
"Sevvy? Are you with me?"  
"Sorry, Evan, just a lot on my mind."  
"Oooh, do you fancy a girl? Can't get her off your mind, can you?"  
Snape quaffed and playfully hit his friend's arm.  
"Naw, more important things are at work. Things we're not going to discuss here and now."  
He could see Rosier's interest was piqued but he didn't dare saying anything else. After all, walls had ears - as did portraits and old armors. Ghosts were on the lookout these days, or so did Bloody Baron tell them. And, of course, fucking Gryffindors were just bloody everywhere, sometimes even in the sub-level corridors, more often than not getting lost and having to be saved by Slytherin prefects.

After the feast, when everyone was groggy and sleepy, Severus slipped out of the common room and followed a well-known path to professor Slughorn's rooms. He knocked, hoping the old Slug wasn't asleep yet. Judging from the shuffling audible inside, he was in luck. The elderly professor opened his doors and blinked.  
"Yes, Severus? Did something happen?"  
The young wizard shook his head, uncomfortably aware of his greasy hair flopping around.  
"Nothing's happened but...sir, can I talk to you for a second?"  
He was invited in by the puzzled wizard and took as seat after Slughorn gestured him to do so.  
"Well, my boy?"  
"I was wondering... Well, I'm sorry for coming to you with this so late but I have decided to pursue Potions Mastery and I was wondering if you would like to take me on as your apprentice, sir."  
Slughorn's face immediately turned from confusion to a look of pure joy mixed with relief.  
"It's wonderful news, Severus, truly wonderful! Yes, of course, I'd love to help you pursue the delicate art of Potion making further! You have the making of a great Master, my boy, it's making me really happy indeed."  
Severus faked a pleased smile.  
"Is there some reading I should do over the summer? Some additional work?"  
Slughorn shook his head energetically.  
"No, of course not, we'll start with the next school year. Enjoy your summer, my boy, relax, and be prepared for hard work to come."  
The young wizard stood up and bowed to the older man, delighting him even more.  
"Of course, sir. I hope you'll enjoy summer too."  
When the door to Slughorn's set of rooms closed behind Severus, he allowed himself a disgusted shiver. Mastery might have been his goal either way but he hoped there would be a way to skip the part where he would have to work under a Master. Unfortunately the only one he knew was Slughorn - and the Dark Lord pointed the old professor as likely to retire, leaving a teaching position (along with a steady, sizeable income source) to his apprentice. It was a perspective Severus couldn't deny was a sweet one. And, after all, he was in no position to be picky. He couldn't go home - his mother was long dead and gone, and his father wanted nothing to do with him. Staying with his rich friends during winter and summer holidays was humiliating but necessary for now - but Severus knew he couldn't do it any longer. One year more and he would be left out in the cold if he didn't do something now. So becoming an apprentice: maybe not lucrative but ensuring him a place to sleep and food to eat. But Slughorn...  
The man was boring. And he wasn't as good nor as interesting he thought he was. Old Slug had an ego the size of the Great Hall and it would cost Severus a lot not to react in any way to this.  
It was still less of a bother and humiliation than working as a clerk in some shop or living off someone's charity.  
Severus sighed deeply and slowly made his way towards the Slytherin common room to pack his things, avoid Rosier's curiosity and maybe stop thinking about the days to come - days just filled with studying potion making under the direction of the most sloppy Master he has ever met.  
*  
"Another year's gone by..." sighed Dumbledore. A soft, feminine laugh answered his statement.  
"You say this every year. Literally. Every year, Albus."  
The Headmaster turned away from the window and smiled kindly at Minerva McGonnagal. The witch was sitting comfortably in the couch closest to an open window and enjoyed night breeze calming her forehead.  
"Would you care for some tea, Minerva?"  
"Only if it's iced. I have no idea how can you drink this hot monstrosity during a day like this."  
"Oh, the evening's quite chilly."  
She snorted in a very unladylike fashion and reached for the high glass filled with cold peach tea and ice cubes he was handing her.  
"It's still too warm. I really prefer it when it's minus temperatures, wind freezing to one's bones and heavy snowfall."  
"Are you sure you're not a snow tiger, my dear? Or a white bear?"  
To answer him, she only laughed.  
"I'm tired by this war that is not a war," he confessed suddenly, surprising not only the younger witch but also himself. He sat down, staring into space. "It was easier, before. When there was a battle to plan, a duel to be fought. It was...cleaner, somehow. Lines were drawn and everyone knew where they were. I knew faces of my enemies, I didn't have to guess which ones of my friends were indeed my friends and which ones were spies or foes in disguise."  
"You would prefer it if Tom moved to an open war? Albus... It would cause hundreds to lose their lives, statute of secrecy to be broken..."  
He interrupted her with a waving movement of his hand.  
"No, of course I wouldn't prefer it. I think I just wouldn't be at such a loss about what to do. I've learned a lot from fighting Grindelwald and then over the years after his fall. But I just don't know how to fight Tom, Minerva. I'm afraid I'll lead us all to our doom."  
"Don't be ridiculous," she chastised. "Even if you don't feel like you're the man for the job, let's face it: there's no one better than you. Tom took care of resistance leaders from the previous war, so you're the only one with enough experience. Aurors trust you and Alastor Moody with his lot don't trust just anyone. They're looking up to you because you know what you're doing, or at least you look like you know it. Most of the time. In public."  
"Oh, and in private I don't?" He laughed, feeling the weight on his shoulder getting a little bit lighter because of her faith.  
"Well, you go around offering people Muggle sweets and cleaning charms that smell of lemons, Albus. Not really the best image for a fearless leader of wizarding Britain's only hope, is it?"  
"No, I suppose it isn't. But I'm not fearless either."  
Minerva smiled warmly and nodded.  
"You know, it's actually a good quality in a leader. I think I would be more concerned if you weren't scared from time to time."  
At that, he could only sigh.  
*  
Aldric couldn't sleep.  
It wasn't the heat, or the pillow, or the too heavy blanket. It wasn't the light or lack of thereof, or an overly interesting book. No. It wasn't even the fact that his head was just filled with thoughts, swirling dark thoughts that annoyed him, sad visions that made him terrified to a point when he seriously considered acquiring a Pensieve. All of it had its impact, of course, but it wasn't the main cause.  
Aldric couldn't sleep because he was alone in his bed.  
He was a fucking Death Eater. A fearless, intelligent, powerful wizard, one of the most influential people in this part of the world, and he couldn't sleep because he was lonely.  
Pathetic.  
Anton had left more than a month ago, deciding to finish his healing in his own home. Aldric tried to pretend it didn't matter, that he didn't analyze and overanalyze it again and again. That he didn't care.  
But as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, around the second week his sleep deprivation was influencing his work.  
"For Merlin's sake, just take some Dreamless Sleep to knock yourself out once in a while," snapped Mulciber one day, annoyed by his friend's inability to focus.  
"You know it's addictive, right?"  
Mulciber grumbled something about stubborn wizards and spelling mistakes in banking paperwork but didn't push the topic any further. But he was right, Aldric had to sleep sometime - so sure, he used the potion once or twice. It helped a bit but couldn't change the fact that he was unable to fall asleep without magical help.  
Lestrange sighed, gave up, turned the nightlight back on and reached for the book he started to read some time ago. It was a rather boring work on the 12th century goblin wars so he bought it in hopes it would just bore him to sleep - no such luck. He couldn't focus on the text for long enough.  
But that's when he's heard the noise in his wardrobe.  
Slowly he reached for his wand and waited for his unannounced guest to appear in the bedroom. Finally he heard a few steps, a deep breath and the door opened, revealed disheveled, mad-looking Anton Dolohov.  
"I can't do this without you," he said without a hello, just like he was continuing a conversation they've had more than a month earlier. "I don't know why, I don't understand it, but I won't. I fucked up. I swear I'll do better. Do you still want me?"  
And then he just stood like that, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Aldric's bedroom, wearing only pajama pants, night slippers and an untied sky-blue robe Lestrange was pretty sure was his.  
A long silent moment passed between them before Aldric threw his wand to the side, raised his arms and reached for Dolohov.  
Immediately he had an armful of wizard on him, burrowing his face into the nook of Aldric's neck, not really caring about what happened to the bedding. Lestrange laughed softly and hid his face in Anton's messy curly hair.  
"But you really have to start to think before acting," he muttered tenderly, taking in the familiar, very much missed scent of ash and musk and ozone. "We're on a very thin ice. We can't afford to lose our heads again."  
Dolohov's hands tightened their hold on Aldric's shirt.  
"Can't afford to lose you," he corrected without heat in his voice, mumbling the words into Lestrange's skin and following them with a brief kiss to the skin of his left shoulder. "Fuck the ice. Fuck the situation."  
Aldric sighed with exasperation.  
"No, Anton. Not: fuck the ice, fuck the situation. If you're careless again, we won't survive this. You know that. Tom's only beginning the most dangerous phase of his revolution, the end is not even in sight yet. Don't be stupid. That's all I can ask of you."  
Dolohov only murmured something, maybe expressing his love, maybe his disinterest. Aldric felt the familiar cold weight in his stomach, knowing it's not the last time they're having this conversation, but for now he brought his arms around Anton and held him as tight as he dared.  
Eventually, they've found their way under the sheets and the nightlight was switched off without ceremony. It seemed like seconds have passed between Aldric's head hitting the pillow and blessed sleep overcoming him.

Genevieve caught him as he was leaving for the day, spring in his step and lack of dark shadow under his eyes speaking more than anything else. She considered him for a moment and smiled.  
"I'm happy it all worked out," she said eventually in a moment of rare generosity when she was indeed glad her husband was happy again. "I was starting to plan an intervention. Trust me, it wouldn't have been pretty."  
Aldric laughed, kissed her soft cheek and turned towards the door.  
"Oh, I believe you. Glad it could be avoided. Have a good day, Genevieve!"  
She chuckled.  
*  
The female Muggle was screeching.  
At first the thought it was some sort of a cruel joke. Then Bellatrix tied her up with magical ropes and with lazy movements of madam Lestrange's wand, the Muggle started levitating - and when she realized it wasn't a joke, she started screaming. It was an unpleasant sound, somewhere between banshee's mournful yowl and Mandrake's murderous shout, just without the additional unpleasant side effects, of course. It amused the young Death Eaters gathered around the fire. Bella made the woman float over the fire. The wizards and witches roared with laughter when Muggle's hair were lit and started emitting smoke.  
Severus stood to the side, with the main group - Bella, Rodolphus, Alecto and Amycus, Auggie Rookwood, Baruch Avery and Evan Rosier - standing around the levitating Muggle.  
He didn't find the woman's fear particularly amusing. Nor did he approved of what would soon happen - Bella insisted they weren't going to wear their masks because who the hell would the woman tell if she's going to be dead soon enough?  
He sighed and took a deep breath of cold, fresh air. They were in the Forest of Dean, it was almost midnight, and Severus had an interesting book to read in his bedroom in the Malfoy Manor. Lucius himself wasn't there yet, having been called off by some business and promising to drop by. Severus envied him this opportunity to disappear and do Merlin knows what when he himself was stuck with this bunch of sadists, trying to fit in.  
"Sometimes you have to do things you don't feel are right," muttered Regulus Black, standing next to him. The younger Slytherin looked as out of place as Severus felt. Snape nodded.  
Bellatrix laughed and danced around the fire. The nameless Muggle was getting tired of screaming, her voice weaker and weaker by the minute.  
"She really is deranged," commented Severus quietly, careful not to be heard. Or noticed, for that matter. As hard as it was to ignore what was happening in front of him, Sev knew he didn't stand a chance against peer pressure. If they'd noticed him, he would have to add to this woman's suffering - and strangely her pain didn't excite him.  
Severus had a rather complicated relationship with Lord Voldemort's teaching.  
It's not like he liked Muggles. He considered them vile and brutish and wholeheartedly agreed that they needed to be tamed like wild dogs. But torturing someone for fun was a waste of time, not to mention: a completely unnecessary risk. To themselves and to the cause as the whole.  
Bellatrix and Rodolphus were singing some sort of drinking song. Rookwood and Avery were using the screaming woman as a target practice for Slashing Curse and Burning Charms.  
"Don't want to join the fun, Sevvy? Or you, Blackie-boy? Come on!" There was a cold, cold insanity in Alecto Carrow's eyes. Her voice was unpleasantly high. "Don't be just standing there!"  
Severus was ready to make a step closer to the fire when Black's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.  
"Naw, Alecto, I've heard from a Ravenclaw prefect that they're going to check our wands for dark curses once we're back to school. And, you know, we don't enjoy casting childish little charms. If we can't go full on dark, we'll just watch others do it."  
With this, Regulus pointed at Bellatrix, who was casting Crucio on the Muggle woman, whose mouth were wide open in a silent, soundless scream for help.  
But no help would come. This was Forest of Dean and this was a very determined group of young, bloodthirsty Death Eaters. Severus knew that the protection spells cast by Bella and Rookwood earlier were designs of Antonin Dolohov himself. No one would come. No one would even hear the screams.  
Alecto, nodded, satisfied and went back to the main group, probably to relay the information about the wand check to those of them who were still in school.  
"Is it true?" Severus asked quietly. Young Black chuckled, his eyes sparkling with real amusement.  
"You kidding? Old Dumble doesn't have enough people to do something like that. But, you see, most of these geniuses here, they're just plain freaking stupid. Telling them believable lies is like taking a candy away from kid. Easy."  
Severus shook his head but a small smile didn't disappear from his face. To anyone looking at him now it would seem that he was amused by the Muggle's reaction to another session with Bella's extraordinary skills in casting the dreaded Cruciatus Curse.  
"I should have known something like this would eventually happen," sighed Lucius Malfoy from behind Severus' back. The newcomer stopped to stand a little behind the two boys.  
"Aw, don't you worry, cousin. We've been awfully good, weren't we, Severus?"  
Snape nodded in affirmation. Malfoy scoffed at the young Black, visibly not amused, but his eyes were glued to the spectacle of violence and dark magic playing out in front of them.   
"What are they celebrating then?"  
Bellatrix was now twirling around the fire, not caring if she collided with people or not. She looked and acted in a way that reminded Severus of his father when he was drunk. Then again, who knows. He had seen some Firewhiskey bottles around earlier in the evening so maybe she was. Snape had a distinct feeling that most of the people who had their part in torturing the now bloodied, half-mad and half-dead Muggle had drunk something to deal with their nerves.  
"She, Mulciber and Rodolphus got their Dark Marks today," answered Black grimly.  
Malfoy made a small grimace of utter distaste.  
"Come on, Severus, I'm sure you have better things to do than to lower yoursef to their standards. And you, Regulus. I'm sure your curfew has long passed and Orion will have my head if something happens to you on your way home."  
Unnoticed by the amused, rowdy crowd in front of them, the three wizards disapparated without a sound. However, the dying Muggle's howl was still ringing in their ears.

The latest edition of the Daily Prophet landed on the table with a thud.  
'DESACRATED BODY OF A FEMALE MUGGLE FOUND!', screamed the headline.  
"Oh, for the love of..." sighed Aldric, his eyes already scanning the article. Mulciber sat down, disgust clearly written on his face. Lestrange looked up at his friend. "How bad is it?"  
"Not good," admitted Robert. He had arrived in Lestrange Hall for their weekly exchange of information and rumors, as per usual arrangement. "Idiot children didn't get rid of the body, just left it in the Forest of Dean. The protective perimeter charms went out eventually and some Muggle hikers stumbled upon the remains. Aurors Office caught the case, there are clear signs of dark magic at work."  
"Morons," hissed Aldric, pushing the paper away. "Little, sadistic, good for nothing idiots!"  
"Yeah. He's not going to be happy."  
Lestrange shook his head with a bitter smile on his face.  
"I wouldn't bet on it. He doesn't care these days, he's letting them running around in masks and robes, even the younglings who are still under Dumbledore's rule at Hogwarts. And I'm pretty sure what this," here he made a gesture at the Prophet news, "was about."  
"Oh? Do tell?"  
"My idiot son and his equally worthy wife were given Marks."  
Robert sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.  
"I really don't want this to be a celebration, Aldric. My son got his Mark with them, as you probably remember."  
"Then we're in the same fucking boat, my friend. And said boat is sinking fast. Somehow we managed to parent idiots who can be used only as a canon fodder because they're too stupid for anything else."  
"HMS Parental Failure," sighed Mulciber. "In other news, the werewolf deal will come through."  
Lestrange froze mid-movement and blinked.  
"How the fuck did that one happen?"  
"Oh don't act so surprised, it's the werewolves. Some Alpha, name's Greyback, I believe, was sent to the Continent by the Dark Lord some time ago to try and beat some sense into them. Or growl at them, I don't know the details." Mulciber shrugged and reached for his cup of tea. "All I know that Greyback went, dominated these packs and came back a conqueror. Filthy, smelly animal, if you ask me, but we'll have to play nice. Apparently he's Tom's newest favorite."  
Lestrange sighed, a bit theatrically.  
"He seems to be going through them rather fast, don't you think?"  
"His favor has an expiration date. Like poisonous potions."  
*  
Dumbledore slid the newspaper towards the rest of the people sitting around the round table in Order's little chamber at Hogwarts. Slowly, he looked at their faces. Alastor Moody and Charlus Potter, Minerva McGonnagall, Marlene McKinnon, Edgar Bones and two Prewett brothers: Fabian and Gideon. Most of them had already seen the latest news. Only Marlene gasped when the read the article. Four Aurors - both Prewetts served in the Office too - sitting at Albus' immediate left looked like sphinxes, no readable emotions on their faces.  
"Do we know who did this, Albus?" asked Edgar in his usual quiet, steady voice. Dumbledore shook his head with regret.  
"Unfortunately, no. But it's obvious that Tom's men were involved - a Muggle tortured to death with dark magic? I don't believe in coincidences."  
"Multiple assailants," added Moody, looking at the gathered witches and wizards with his new prosthetic magical eye. "Poor thing never stood a chance."  
"So what do we think?" Marlene stopped looking at the headline and raised her eyes. "Was it a rite of passage of sorts? Voldemort getting the kids joining his group to kill someone to check if they're tough enough? It also can't be a coincidence that this happens just after the school year is over."  
"That's the working theory, yes." All eyes landed on the speaker, Gideon Prewett. "Body has shown signs of both very advanced dark curses like Crucitatus and very simple, even childish spells. Cutting curse, for example. Boils, little slashes, tied tongue..."  
"So what killed her?" asked Dumbledore gently. The Auror's eyes were sad.  
"It's hard to say, really. It might have been a clean, quick Avada but her face... judging by the expression frozen on her face, I'd say she was Crucio'ed one time too many and her heart gave out. Just couldn't take it anymore."  
Marlene whispered something under her breath, like a curse, like a prayer. Who knew. Albus had no idea how to pray anymore, or even which deity to turn to.  
"How do we even act now? It's unlikely, if you will, that the responsible parties will come forward and how do you investigate it? How can we be asked to send our children back to school when we know that there are monsters within these walls, just waiting to be freed?"  
Dumbledore looked at Edgar Bones - who had two kids in pre-Hogwarts age, if the Headmaster remembered correctly, and a third one on the way - and felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach. Even if Bones was the first one to ask these questions, he most definitely wouldn't be the last.  
"Because, Edgar," he started kindly, "there are even more terrible monsters outside these walls. At least here we can still control them and protect other children. Out there? Everyone's on their own."  
"That's true," added Fabian. "Have you seen the streets of wizarding London in the evening? They're empty! Even now, during the summer! I have a friend who's specializing in magical anti-break in systems. He's making a fortune! Not that it would save someone from the Dark Lord if he wanted to get to them, but people are scared."  
"They'll pay for anything that makes them feel safer," sighed Moody, his short fingers drumming a rhythm on the table. "Edgar, Hogwarts is safe. It's the outside world you should be worried about."  
"I know I am," added Minerva quietly.   
Silence fell over the table, echoing in the empty expanses of the castle itself. Outside, summer storm was raging.

In the evening, the same storm did its best to damage the roses in Joanna Mulciber's beloved garden. Any other time it would have been a tragedy and the witch would be already casting protection spells on her favorite flowerbeds - but not that night. That night there were darker and heavier thoughts on her mind, problems she didn't exactly know how to face. On quiet feet she entered her husband's study where he was sitting, as usual, bent over papers and business schedules, agreements, letters and reports.  
"Robert?"  
He looked at her and smiled warmly. It's been years since he saw her for the first time in a tiny little bookshop in wizarding Moscow. Only a bit shorter time had passed since she agreed to leave her beloved motherland behind and follow him home, to London. But time couldn't kill or diminish the love she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her, love she returned with all her might.  
"Yes, my sweet?"  
She sat down on a fluffy sitting pillow next to his legs and leaned so that his armchair supported most of her weight.   
"The article in today's paper..."  
Absentmindedly, he allowed his fingers to play with her long, silvery hair. For a long moment he was silent and Joanna knew he was considering what to tell her. Truth, she pleaded silently with her eyes, tell me the truth because I don't think I can handle you lying to me.  
"I don't know anything for sure but I think he was there. He did it, along with the rest of them," he said eventually and Joanna shivered.  
"What did we do wrong?" Her voice trembled but didn't crumble. Not yet, anyway. Of course, she would cry eventually, thinking about her beloved baby boy, a torturer and a killer of innocents.   
"I have no idea." Robert put away the report he was reading and looked down at her. "I've been asking myself the same question whole day. Is it my fault that he's becoming so bloodthirsty and incapable of considering the outcome of his actions? Maybe we should have kept him away from the Dark Lord's business and raised him to be a boring, hard working wizard? I don't have any answers for you, my sweet."  
Joanna's fingers found his hand and squeezed tightly.  
"I think... Maybe we steered him in the wrong direction, Robert, but we can't change what was already done. How do we move on from this? Where do we head?"  
He sighed.  
"You know that I can't forbid him anything, he's an adult now. And the Dark Lord wouldn't react too well to me discouraging our son from maiming and killing Muggles. After all, they're just Muggles, nothing more."  
Joanna sighed softly with sadness and didn't say anything to that because what could she say? The only thing left for her to do was to sit there and watch the rain fall.  
*  
Robert Mulciber was nervous.  
Well, it wasn't the first time in his life when his nerves got the best of him, really - being the Dark Lord's right hand was stressful. But sometimes the circumstances made his anxiety more pronounced - like being summoned in the middle of a perfectly quiet autumn evening. When he popped into existence in Tintagel, Mulciber expected crowds, or at least other Inner Circle members. But the road to the house on the cliff was empty so apparently it was a case of individual meeting. These made Mulciber even more anxious. Things were slow since summer - sure, they were preparing an offensive, both politically and military, but that required a set of meetings planned beforehand and scheduled to fit every person who needed to be in the room where it happened. Individual summons usually meant that something went wrong and immediate action was required.  
Mulciber didn't really approve of Dark Lord's recent ideas about immediate action since they more often than not included Imperio, Crucio or combination of both. Not that he could say anything. These days the only way to remain safe was to not have an opinion and just keep one's mouth tightly shut.  
Just as Mulciber was nearing the entrance to the Tintagel, a well familiar figure joined him, shivering in the cold wind.  
"Aldric," he greeted his friend. Lestrange bowed his head.  
"I'm relieved that he called us both," remarked the other wizard when they were crossing the empty, cavernous hall of Dark Lord's lair. At the far end of it, there was a small door hiding entrance to the lower level of the building - Tom's living quarters where he took meetings and didn't leave most of the time. Mulciber wasn't sure whether Riddle has left Tintagel at all in the recent months. Voldemort's paranoia was growing steadily, he was convinced Dumbledore's people would do anything to assassinate him. While it didn't really seem believable to his advisors because they were rather sure that Auror's wouldn't even know how Tom Riddle looks like these days, they didn't say anything. It was safer this way for them.  
"Well, it can still be some emergency of this or that," sighed Mulciber. "But at least it's not summons to yell at us for some failure. I'm pretty sure we haven't failed at anything recently."  
"Maybe he just needs to rant about incompetency of others," smiled Lestrange agreeably and opened the door leading to the lower level of Tintagel.  
In the beginning, Tintagel was supposed to be only a meeting place, not a full-time headquarters with living space that could host a couple of wizards in need of a place to stay and a small medical ward. When Tom ordered them to create the underground level, Mulciber and Dolohov needed a few days to find where to even begin searching for a way to make this happen. But they did. With help from hired dwarven architects - who were well paid for their advice and then their memories were changed, even though they didn't see the site of the building; Mulciber knew they had to be extremely careful with this - they dug deep into the stone of the cliff. Slowly, an underground labyrinth was created and furnished with everything a wizard could ever need.   
Unfortunately, it was still stone and hanging over huge mass of water - no amount of spells could get rid of the dampness and cold that were now seeping into Lestrange's and Mulciber's charcoal black, heavy robes. Robert shivered and mumbled the warming spell that helped generations of Slytherin survive the undercastle.  
"You're here," said Tom when the two summoned wizards entered the conference room where he usually held important meetings. Riddle gestured towards two uncomfortable-looking chairs. "Please, sit."  
As they took their places, a thick folder of files was thrown onto the round table. Papers slid towards the Death Eaters.  
"Read," ordered Dark Lord, sitting down onto the only comfortable seat in the room, his own black armchair that looked a little like a throne. "Nott's contact in the Legislature Office brought us copies of new acts our Minister is planning on pushing through in the next couple of weeks."  
"Let's see..." Lestrange gathered some of the documents and started scanning them for information impatiently. Mulciber thought it rather uplifting that he wasn't the only one who just wanted to leave the cold and damp room. Adding to his discomfort was Tom's gaze, harsh and discontent. "Oh look, Robert, agreement to prolonging the trade deal with Muggle ministry of commerce, idiots... Non-human equality act, are they insane? Voting rights for vampires, Ministry-funded help centers for werewolves? While we're still in crisis and there are many issues to be solved? Oh, shit. Robert, look at this."  
Mulciber read the page Lestrange handed to him and frowned.  
"A Marriage Act For Protection of Bloodlines? One child from generation of a pureblood family required to be married to a Muggle, Muggleborn or a half-blood wizard? What kind of bullshit idea is this?"  
Voldemort smiled coldly.  
"They want to dilute the pure blood that runs within the society. No doubt in their minds this will serve to weaken the pureblooded families and stop any attempts at our supremacy. After all, to Ministry it seems that it would be very hypocritical to fights against something that one already has in their bloodline."  
None of the wizards took the dangerous bait he just hung in front of them. Instead, Mulciber scoffed.  
"And we haven't heard about any of this before? We haven't seen this coming, why?"  
"Minchum apparently wanted to blindside us, everything was kept secret until the paperwork was ready and had to go through the Office. This just screams of Dumbledore's little bunch of faithful dogs, trying to stop the tide that has already started building."  
Lestrange put down the last set of documents, rubbed his eyes and shook his head.  
"Well, it's clear that we can't wait any longer with political intervention. What do you need us to do, Tom?"  
Voldemort was silent for a long moment, considering his options and the uses both wizards had.  
"Aldric, I want you to take the Marriage Act to your sources in the Prophet. Discredit it, create outrage and hysteria. You know how to do it," Lestrange nodded, bowed deeply and left the room, his black robes flowing with the rapid movements. "You, Robert... I have a more delicate task for you."

In the end, it wasn't that complicated after all.  
One would have thought that putting the Minister of Magic himself under a soft spell steering his actions towards more desirable outcomes will be hard, grueling job that would take months to accomplish. Surprisingly, this wasn't the case at all. All it took was a lovely young woman, the Minister's aide, "convinced" to write a meeting with Mulciber's lackey into her boss' schedule.   
"You sure this will work?" asked Nott, who was keeping Mulciber company in a little pub on the other side of the street from the Ministry, as they were waiting for the lackey to come out. Robert rolled his eyes.  
"I'm a master of soft spells, remember? All he has to do is to meet with the Minister, present some bullshit petition I had him fabricate and give a spelled sheet of paper to Minchum. That's all. It would take a very special, very skilled man to fuck it up and get caught in the process, trust me. I've planned this with some low-level Death Eater in mind, it had to be idiot proof."  
"If you say so..."  
Mulciber stopped himself from rolling his eyes again, silently wished for more intelligent company and waited. Few minutes later, the man he Imperio'ed into helping him came out, nodded shortly and disappeared in the crowd. Mulciber smiled.  
Meanwhile, Lestrange was unleashing hell of public opinion onto the Marriage Act.  
'FREE WILL TAKEN AWAY FROM THE OLD FAMILIES', screamed headlines. 'PUREBLOODS LOWER THAN HOUSE ELVES?', asked others. A scathing essay written by a jurist bought by Lestrange's money was quickly followed by an interview with a historian from Wales who argued that if centuries of inbreeding between wizards and witches didn't harm the bloodlines, there was no point in changing their way of life now. Others said things about freedom of choice, freedom to marry out of love (as if that was something pureblooded families would fight for!).   
And then there was the group of wizards who felt that Ministry had no place controlling marriages and that the next step would be a Ministry controller visiting beds of married couples. One well-known feminist witch wrote a powerful letter to the editor of the Prophet almost sparked a nation-wide wave of protests and anti-Ministry manifestations.  
"You have outdone yourself, my dear friend," said pleased Voldemort during an Inner-Circle meeting in the late autumn, day after Prophet called for the change in the Ministry and bigger transparency of legislation process. "I have not anticipated an outcome this great."  
Mulciber and Lestrange only exchanged looks.  
*  
Dumbledore could see many things. He could see the rise of evil in the outside world, he could see the cracks in the Hogwarts' foundation, the soft glow of its magical shields and defense spells. The windows in the Headmaster's tower overlooked the whole grounds, from the lake to the Forbidden Forest to the village of Hogsmeade.   
Right now Dumbledore was watching the snow fall, covering every dirty patch, every imperfection in the surrounding beauty. The world was silent, snow fell without a sound and for a moment everything was perfect in that late December evening.  
"I've brought you hot chocolate," rang a young, bright voice behind him and Dumbledore smiled, turning to see Minerva standing in the doorstep of his rooms, two steaming mugs in hands.   
"With a dash of Firewhiskey?"  
She laughed, delighted in how well he knew her by now.  
"More than a dash."  
He gestured for her to come in and with a wave of his hand he reignited the fire in the fireplace. She put the mugs on the coffee table and with a sigh of pleasure sat in front of the roaring fire.  
"Too cold in the summer, too cold in the winter... You're a hard cat to please, Minerva."  
She huffed.  
"No, I'm not. This is just perfect, I'll have you know. Drink your chocolate, old man."  
Dumbledore sat down and took a sip of the sweet, perfectly alcoholic beverage.  
"How many students didn't go home?" he asked after a moment of comfortable silence. She sighed again, this time heavier, with more sadness, and moved so that she would be able to look at him.  
"More than in previous years added together, I'm afraid. Almost twenty in Hufflepuff, fifteen in Ravenclaw, twelve in Gryffindor, four in Slytherin. The snakes feel safe in this cold, I'd say. Most are staying for reasons not related to war, like mister Snape."  
"Ah, young mister Snape," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "He's stayed behind to study for the Apprenticeship, hasn't he? I have to say, he surprised me with this."  
"Do you think we have an opportunity with him, Albus?"  
Dumbledore tugged at his beard, lost in thought. He would lie if he told her he didn't think about it. But was the risk worth the reward?   
"To be absolutely honest here, my dear, I don't know. I'd like to think that we're able to reach this boy and bring him back to light, maybe to even use him to get some more information on the Death Eater movements. You know that we need it. With every owl I'm getting from the Ministry, I fear that another one of our members was attacked of worse. It's just a matter of time before they start killing out in the open."  
She nodded thoughtfully and winced.  
"I'm still not liking the idea of using this boy like he's some sort of tool, Albus."  
"Me neither, my dear, but... Sometimes wars require us to make things we're ashamed of later but that are necessary for the greater good."  
Albus didn't notice Minerva's sharp gaze. She knew, of course, about his past - he told her one night, after another letter from Nurmengard arrived and she had the unfortunate opportunity to see him in one of his dark moments. Sometimes Dumbledore himself marveled at how quickly people seemed to forget that he and Gellert were once friends, hell, that they were something much more than that. It wasn't a huge secret. A man loving another man would be publicly ostracized but wouldn't face any penalty, as he would in the Muggle world. And neither Albus nor Gellert feared gossipers. But that was years ago and people forgot, told themselves that the Headmaster was married to his work.   
But Minerva knew and felt a cold weight settle in her stomach when she heard Grindelwald’s motto. She didn't say anything, however. The night was pleasant and the fire emitted warmth.  
There would be still time for this conversation in the future, she thought to herself, and took a sip of her drink. Outside, snow was covering the grounds.  
*  
The snow was falling.  
Aldric smiled at the sight, turned to rest on his other side, facing Anton, and stretched with a purring, pleased sound. The wizard next to him laughed, hearing it, but Aldric was too drowsy and sated to even care.  
"It's snowing," he said, as if it explained everything but it only made the other wizard laugh harder. Of course Dolohov knew about Aldric's ridiculous love for snow and this silent, beautiful world where everything's covered by white. Cold wind? Not so much. Rain? Nope. But snow? Any time.  
Lestrange grumbled some sort of an undignified response and burrowed further under the blankets, completely ignoring the wrinkles of laughter on Anton's face.  
Last year's Yuletime was so miserable, Aldric refused to repeat the experience and threatened to tie Dolohov to his bed if the man didn't agree to spend the holidays in Lestrange Hall. Genevieve was very understanding and probably had other plans since she gracefully agreed to forgo the traditional family dinner and just spend an evening with the boys and Bellatrix in hers and Rodolphus' home. Aldric only chuckled and couldn't wait to see how would his daughter in law cope with having to prepare and host such an event.   
To be honest, Genevieve probably shared his amusement but didn't give voice to it.  
So the Lestrange Hall was silent save for fire roaring, firewood cracking and sound of two wizards sharing breath and space in the most intimate of fashions. Aldric stretched again, feeling absolutely happy.  
"It's so rare that we get a morning like this," murmured Dolohov. "I miss those slow, lazy weekend mornings we used to have."  
"Yeah, Tom started to make it difficult for us to sleep in the same bed," sighed Lestrange. "You think he's doing it on purpose?"  
"Maybe he's jealous."  
"Maybe."  
Dolohov was the first one to snort and soon they were both laughing, for this moment - carefree and without the heavy burden on their shoulders.


	9. Interlude 3

**G. Grindelwald to A. B. W. Dumbledore, 20th of December 1954**

_ Albus, _

_ I do not even know whether you open these letters or not. I want to believe that you do with all my might but it should not surprise me if you just burn them without even opening the seal. It is all right. I won't stop writing them because they are the only thing keeping my mind in one piece. _

_ Being imprisoned is awfully boring, I will have you know. _

_ They do not let me keep any books and screen my correspondence. It is truly amusing, how afraid they are of me even after all these years. I wanted to publish an essay in Charms - you know the theme, it was the one about method of control when casting the Inferno spell. I was refused - apparently the worry is that I will use a scholarly writing to 'recruit new members for my movement'. As if I did not know that my movement is long dead and gone, my most faithful were caught and put to death or kissed by Dementors. _

_ Cretins. _

_ But I have been hearing things and the guards are letting me read newspapers, under supervision, of course. Someone has been a very bad boy, killing the heroes from the war with me. If you are indeed reading this, Albus, heed the word of warning: there is someone out there, very much invested in not having any experienced resistance leaders. Be careful, Albus. Surround yourself with good wizards who will watch your back because there is a storm brewing on the horizon and I fear for your survival. _

_ Not everyone will be as considerate as I was when we were playing our little game of chess on the chessfield that was Europe. _

_ I hope you are using my wand and that it serves you well - I will pray that it keeps you safe once the hurricane hits. _

_ They tell me Yule is coming again. Do you remember the holidays of 1922 when we were stuck in that little cottage in Norway, snow everywhere, magnetic storm stopping us from risking apparition? It was snowing the other day and it reminded me of those three days we've spent together. These were the good theys, were they not? You cannot tell me you do not miss them too because I will accuse you of lying. The word is you still are not married, nor even interested in having a life partner. It gives me hope, old friend. Even if I know I am hoping for things that will never come to be. _

_ Happy Christmas, Albus. Stay safe in this turbulent world of yours. _

_ With love,  _

_ G. _


	10. Chapter 10

Severus snapped the book shut, threw it away onto the desk and sighed with frustration. His Apprenticeship was more of a challenge than he thought it possible. Slughorn had a tendency to give him either idiot-level tasks he needed minutes to complete or complex, complicated ones he had to spends hours on, pouring over notes, books and ancient scrolls while the librarian watched him like a hawk.

He sighed again and draped his robes tighter around himself. The winter break hasn’t ended yet which made him one of the three Slytherin students left in the undercastle. Since the other two were siblings from second year who spent most of the time with one another, Severus was left alone to his own devices in the empty – save for him – common room. Two or three years ago it would have been a pleasure and luxury but the older he got, the more he appreciated company. Especially when his mind was wandering and he could have used anything to think about other than Lily Evans.

Truth be told, he missed his friend.

Of course, other Slytherins from his social circle didn’t accept her but it didn’t stop Severus’ quiet, stubborn love for her. 

He knew he couldn’t have her and that he had hurt her probably beyond her capabilities to forgive and he would regret it for the rest of his life. But he still missed her in his life, he missed the easy companionship and the intelligent conversations they’ve had. Now he could only watch her from afar during classes. She was usually surrounded by the Marauders anyway so he wouldn’t be able to talk to her even if he tried. Which he didn’t. Having a Muggleborn friend wouldn’t agree with the Dark Lord’s doctrine so he kept it to himself. What other choice did he have?

Being Lord Voldemort’s follower was a very lonely path, Severus was beginning to understand.

Of course, he had companions. Other Slytherins, like-minded people who were mostly on the fast track to becoming Death Eaters. Some of them were legacies, others, like Severus, were tempted by power, control, domination and challenge the Dark Lord provided. Some outcasts and rebels craved entropy, freedom to do whatever they wanted – that category included Bellatrix Lestrange, a woman as deranged as she was beautiful. Severus understood the need for maniacs, sadists and zealots. It didn’t stop him from finding them repulsive.

With a small sigh, Severus gathered his papers and slowly walked towards his empty dormitory, surrendering to the night filled with thoughts, memories and loneliness that constantly gnawed on his young mind.

 

Several floors above Snape, another mind was feeling the heavy weight of being lonely and lacking a partner who would understood without need of explanations. Albus touched the letter he threw carelessly onto the table few minutes before. It was just a letter, written on an ordinary paper with an ordinary quill and ink. Nothing special about it. It didn’t carry any spells or secrets. It was just another letter from a…friend? An enemy? An old lover?

A lost chance, he decided eventually. 

This war has been so long and there was no end in sight. And Dumbledore felt so terribly alone, even when he was surrounded by the Order members he trusted, by Hogwarts teachers and his own advisors. The last time he felt this kind of despair was in the last, long days before Gellert's fall when he was still deliberating on what to do. Once he's decided and once all the important players agreed - only because they were too afraid to duel Grindelwald themselves, remembered Albus bitterly - everything was easy. He had a plan, an end date. Nothing else mattered.

Now he had the feeling he was walking a long and dark corridor, stuck forever in the darkness, not even knowing where he was going and without the chance to turn back. 

Albus touched the letter again, the hand writing so painfully familiar. It wasn't the first one, nor would it be the last, he knew. Sometimes it felt like these letters were the only thing he could still look forward to. He never wrote back but he made sure that Gellert had access to newspapers and books. There was no need to be cruel and deprive him of things that gave him intellectual stimuli. Albus wasn't worried about Gellert breaking out of Nurmengard and joining forces with Tom. No, he had beaten the fight out of his old friend. He still remembered the look of complete devastation on Gellert's face when the heavy doors of his cell shut behind him. The man who wanted to rule Europe was done. Albus made sure of that, breaking both of them in the process.

"I wonder what the history books will have to say about this," he whispered sadly, tenderly folded the paper and put it in the lowest drawer of the desk in his private study. Along with hundreds of other letters, written by the same person.

*

"Merlin, I hate this."

"Just don't let anyone hear you say this."

"It's cold, there is no alcohol, and I have tax paperwork to come home to, Dolohov. Don't go all smart on me."

"I'm just saying that the Dark Lord doesn't like it when someone doesn't enjoy the Saturnalia festivities."

"Saturnalia festivities could use some Firewhiskey."

Lestrange pretended he was coughing to mask the grim chuckle bubbling in his throat. The whole scene was simply ridiculous. Mulciber was moaning about lack of alcohol and taxes while nearby a Muggle man was screaming as he was pushed around the circle of bloodthirsty werewolves. Dolohov was giving out curses like candy on Halloween, and Aldric just wanted to go home. But he couldn't. Even if participation in the evening's "entertainment" part wasn't mandatory, the same couldn't be said about attending the meeting of the Inner Circle that was to take place just after the speech Tom was about to make.

"I honestly have no idea what he wants from us," grumbled Mulciber.

"Taxes?"

Lestrange snorted and cast another warming charm. Either he was getting old or these things were wearing off very quickly in the freezing seaside air. For some reason the festivities were taking place on the grounds surrounding Tintagel - still under the protection charms but not inside the building itself. The rude explanation was that the smell of wet fur would bother the Dark Lord's sensitive nose too much. Aldric was pretty willing to believe it was more than just a rumor. He knew Tom's stance on not-humans, werewolves included - Voldemort told him multiple times that they were useful tools but for some reason they just disgusted him too much. Seeing the sharp, yellowed teeth and long claws, Lestrange could understand why.

In another part of the grounds, Bellatrix laughed loudly. He could hear she was having great time - the victim she was torturing, an elderly mudblood woman who was one of Dumbledore's less proactive supporters, was incoherent and her screams were slowly getting weaker. Too slowly, for Aldric's tastes.

Salazar, he just wanted a drink. In his own study. And then go to sleep. But no, instead he had to just stand there like the faithful dog he was and wait for his master. Finally, the Dark Lord came out of the building and stopped on the steps leading to it. Immediately, the crowd fell silent and for the first few moments only faint sounds made by the unfortunate victims was audible. Soon silencing charms were cast and even that stopped, leaving only the neverending roar of the sea below them.

"My friends!" Voldemort raised his hands. "Once again, stronger and more numerous than the year before, we are celebrating the ancient Saturnalia! Tonight, we give our thanks to our ancestors and to the gods of old for our fortune and their constant watch over us. We give them blood of our enemies! We give them their screams and suffering! We give them their deaths!"

The crowd roared its appreciation. Lestrange and Mulciber only exchanged glances. Tom waited patiently for the yelling to subside.

"And if they're satisfied by our thanks and sated by the blood we spill for them, in a year's time we'll meet again. This time, as victors, dancing on the graves of our enemies! Enjoy yourselves, my faithful friends! Do not fear war! Do not fear death! You are deathless!"

Accompanied by deafening applause, Voldemort disappeared inside the Tintagel. Flames jumped high, somewhere in the distance sound of drums had started its unsettling, primal rhythm. Members of the Inner Circle hesitantly followed Tom inside.

He was waiting for them on the platform at the other side of the room. Without any chatter or directions, the wizards and witches stood before Voldemort in half-circle, fabric of their heavy robes making the only audible noise inside the cavernous hall. Tom was silent for a long while, studying the row of his most faithful, most useful Death Eaters. Eventually he nodded, as if satisfied with what he was seeing.

Suddenly Aldric realized that among hundreds of spells and experiments they recovered from Salazar Slytherin's Treasury decades ago were things on the ancient art of Leglimency.

"Where are we on the issue of more numerous Auror forces?"

Mulciber bowed before saying:

"We've been successful in acquiring personnel information. The rumors were true, Aurors Office definitely knows something will happen, they're taking young recruits from the academy, pushing them through a very fast crash course and give them badges in a matter of weeks. Right now we have no reason to believe it will influence the defense abilities of the Ministry forces but we're prepared to teach a number of low-level Death Eaters the basic offensive spells we'll need during the offensive."

"And the defensive magic?" asked Olivant Crabbe, a big and rather slow young man. Mulciber's eyebrows shot up.

"What the hell for?"

Voldemort smiled coldly.

"Why waste time on teaching defense to cannon fodder? Keep it up, Robert, I want regular reports."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"Adolpheus, how is the plan of transporting the giants coming along?"

As Mulciber rejoined the half-circle, an older man by the name of Adolpheus Travers bowed.

"We have established that the English Channel has at least one shallow path they can just walk on. There is no need to waste resources on portkeys or, Merlin forgive me, side-along apparition, my lord."

Voldemort looked unconvinced but something in the image of giants walking through the sea on his command was just too tempting. He nodded and Travers returned to the others. Tom made an impatient gesture.

"I can see that most of you want to rejoin the festivities, I will not be stopping you. Some of you may expect individual summons in the coming few days. Now go, enjoy yourselves."

With that, the meeting was over. Most Inner Circle members indeed itched to join other Death Eaters - most, but not all. A group of them slipped out, ignored the grounds teeming with people and walked towards the designated apparition point. Malfoy was among them, as were Aldric, Anton and Robert. They didn't exchange comments or any further jokes, hearing the screams of excruciating pain behind their backs. 

"Gentlemen," muttered Mulciber instead of goodbye, bowed shortly and disappeared.

"He was in a hurry..." commented Malfoy. Aldric smiled wearily.

"Apparently his tax paperwork is more interesting than the evening at the Dark Lord's. Who knew."

Lucius snorted, winced when a group of werewolves started howling nearby and disappeared without any other comments.

"I'm too old for this," said Aldric quietly as he and Dolohov apparated in the garden and started walking towards the mansion. "Too old and too tired."

"It's not like we'll have to do this forever."

Aldric's laugh was absent of mirth.

"The way I see it, the younger generation lacks initiative and drive, Anton. He'll make us do it forever if he needs us and let's be honest, even if we conquer Britain for him, next year it will be Europe. Asia. The world."

"You really think it will come to this?"

Lestrange could only laugh. If Dolohov didn’t see it already, he really couldn’t help him.

*

“Giants. Walking through English Channel.”

“That’s what he said.”

“It’s… Seriously, Lucius. You’re kidding me.”

Malfoy rubbed his eyes and reached for his drink, completely ignoring the judgemental stare of his father’s portrait. As if he didn’t drink before dinner, old hypocrite. When the glass was empty, Lucius looked at exasperated Enos Mulciber. 

“What can I tell you? Ask your father, if he’ll admit it, of course. Shame you were away, really, I missed having you there.”

“We all did,” added Rabastan Lestrange and poured Malfoy another glass of Firewhiskey. “I sometimes feel like we’re the only sane ones there, and then I realize that this fucking organization has circles within circles, groups within groups and agenda within agendas.”

“Not to mention levels of idiocy, apparently.” Mulciber Junior blinked and shook his head. “I can’t believe my father will let them do this.”

“There is reason within this madness,” muttered Lucius, watching the amber liquid with fascination. Fine, maybe he was a little bit drunk. “He wants it to fail. Travers, Mcnair, Rabastan's brother and sister in law, Igor Karkaroff… They’re the ones responsible for the giant offensive, right? Circle within a fucking circle. So another circle wants them to fail.”

“It will hurt the cause.”

“Ennie, darling, don’t be an idiot, it doesn’t fit you” Lucius snapped. “It’s not about a cause, it hasn’t been for a long time, I think. We’re just pawns, all of us. You really can’t see that?”

“I can.” Rabastan shrugged. “I don’t really care for what happens to Bella and the rest but in case our lord and savior is pissed more than we can predict, I want to save Rodolphus. Send him to some remote Caribbean island, he can come back in five years when tempers cool down or something.”

“Think daddy dearest doesn’t have an exit strategy for him?”

Rabastan snorted into his drink.

“Ennie, I can only repeat what Lucius said: stupidity doesn’t suit you. I don’t think daddy dearest has an exit strategy for himself yet and even if he has, it’ll be just him and Anton. He’ll prefer it this way, trust me.”

Enos laughed loudly, comfortably sprawled on Lucius’ sofa, completely unperturbed  by being constantly accused for being an idiot, and pointed one of his fingers at Rabastan.

“Oooh, I forgot that daddy loves his best friend more than he loves all of you.”

“Sad but true. And please, don’t say anything else about my father fucking Anton Dolohov because I’ll take personal offense and will have to destroy your sad ass in a duel. Do remember that daddy’s illicit love affair slash friend was my duelling teacher.”

Mulciber chuckled and put his right hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Oh, forgive me, magnanimous master Lestrange!”

Malfoy sighed and felt the headache in his nearest future. Honestly, he liked his friends very much but as he was listening to Lestrange and Mulciber exchange quips he missed their older, more mature versions.

“So, who should I bring in on this, boys?” he interrupted another round of ‘pleasantries’ before it came to blows. “Little Avery’s still at school, I have no idea where Auggie Rookwood stands…”

“His father is friends with Corban Yaxley so I wouldn’t feel comfortable with Auggie, as much as it pains me to say,” muttered Enos, back to his serious self. “Sevvy Snape, once he’s out?”

“Yeah, I think so,” agreed Malfoy. “Reggie Black?”

“Sorry, Lucy, but I have to oppose this one.” Rabastan sat a little straighter. “I’ve been hearing things about the ancient and noble house of Black.”

“Things? And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me Lucy.”

“Things like a small fortune being spent on upping the defenses of the Grimmauld Place townhouse. Like old Orion is preparing for war which, after he refused the Dark Lord’s invitation to join the Death Eaters, concerns me. Not to mention the fact that Reggie’s older brother is or soon will be a member of the Order. No, sorry but no.”

“You do know that Sirius left house few years ago and was denounced by his family, right?”

“My point still stands, Lucy. Let’s bring in Sevvy Snape and Evan Rosier on this, no one else. The fewer people, the easier it will be to keep secrets.”

Malfoy nodded, deep in thought. Keeping secrets! As if! What a farce it was, this little circle of their own within much bigger organization. The minute his friends left, Lucius would write a short note to Robert Mulciber, cast some heavy privacy spells on it and send it through his house elf so that Mulciber Senior would get this personally. Malfoy was the one-man bridge between two worlds, getting access to information gathered by the older members of the Inner Circle and at the same time supplying them with intel from the younger ones. Two generations were linked by him. Hell, Lucius was pretty sure Aldric and Robert talked to him more often than they did to their own sons. 

“How would I go about getting an exit strategy?” he asked abruptly, visibly surprising the other two men. “Come on. Spill.”

“There’s a forger in town. You pay him, wait couple of weeks, he gets you a new identity in a country of your choosing – tax history, property ownerships, name, school records, all that crap. You could live in the States or New Zealand if you wanted. Just stick to ex-British colonies, you know, because of the accent. Wherever you wish, as long as you have cash to pay for it.”

Malfoy looked at Rabastan suspiciously.

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know this. Leave me the guy’s contact information, will you?”

When Lestrange was scribbling down the address, Lucius made a mental note to talk with Aldric about exit strategies and possible calamities. As the old Slytherin saying went: a smart snake has more than one burrow.

*

She was late. Damn, she was late home again, the hour mother and father wanted her back had long passed but she was twenty and she hasn't seen her friends from Hogwarts for some time, and the weather outside was nasty so she stayed in the pub where it was warm and nice. Parents could tell here when to be back when she was a teenager, not now! She was an adult, worked in a wizarding law firm in the centre of magical London. If she wanted one butterbeer more than one butterbeer more she would have.

Damn, it was cold.

She shivered as she hurried towards the apparition point. The street was dark and empty, there were no lights in the widows of tall buildings around her. Right, she reminded herself, it was the financial district. There were no apartments here. No need to panic, right?

If she looked behind to check if no one was following her, no one needed to know.

Still, even with the reassurance that she was alone on the street, every shadow and every dark alley looked suspicious. She was almost running, cursing the anti-apparition wards, the newest safety precaution some of the businesses invested in. Special apparition points, free of such wards, had to be appointed because the amount of magic in the air could make one splinch themselves or worse, reroute the apparition. It was supposed to make people feel safer. Well, right now she didn't feel particularly safe, if she was to be honest.

Not that anyone cared.

Finally, she arrived - it wasn't anything unusual, just a large white circle on the ground, and the color of the street light was dim gold. With a groan of relief she stepped into the circle and disapparated. She opened her eyes (apparition always made her nauseated and closing eyes helped), expecting to see the familiar sight of her family's cottage, free standing in the middle of the valley, under a beautiful winter sky filled with stars. But she saw no stars. 

Not caring about her pretty robes she picked specially for this evening to impress her friends, nor about heels of her shoes, she started to run towards the cottage down the winding road from the hill she landed on. In the sky just over her parent's little cozy house a green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth stared at her.

She never saw the spell coming. The green light hit her directly in the middle of her back.

 

"Alastor, we caught another one."

Moody looked up from the report he was writing. His desk was almost bending with the amount of paperwork stacked on it, and most were open cases. He cursed softly.

"Disappearance or murder, Aniqua?"

A muscular dark-skinned woman sat at the desk next to his and stretched, visibly tired. They've both finished their shifts hours ago but there was still work to be done. There was always work to be done.

"Triple homicide. Scotland, some little village... The Manahan family. Parents, young daughter. Son still at Hogwarts, Dumbledore will make the notification."

"Good Merlin."

"Yeah. They got the daughter last, she was coming back from a pub here, in London. She and mother got Avadas."

"Father?"

"Signs of torture. Possibly Avada, who the hell knows. Re-charmers are working on his now, we should have his magical print soon."

Moody thought for a moment, the name seemed familiar...

"Manahan, you said?"

"Yeah?"

"Gerhard Manahan?"

"Yeah. What is it, Al?"

"I hope you have your umbrella, Aniqua, there's a shitstorm in the forecast. Gerhard Manahan worked in the Department of Mysteries. I think he was a clerk or something."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

After a minute of just sitting there, staring at the wall with WANTED posters, she blinked and stood up.

"I'm gonna notify the Minister's office. Don't stay up too long, Al."

He snorted.

"My shift starts in three hours. No point in going home now."

"Yeah, we're shorthanded. And even people we have are falling like flies. Potter still on sick leave?"

"Yup. No one knows when he's coming back. And I've heard they're going to send more to the coast."

"This...wall thing?"

"Coastal wall, yeah. But it's not an actual wall, you know. No battlements or anything. Just a net of encampments, ready to react anytime."

It was her turn to laugh.

"If we're not too tired, that is. Or dead. The Mark was there, above the Manahan house. Creepy green thing. They're not hiding anymore."

"They're signing their work?"

"Yeah."

“Fuck."

"Yeah."

"You better go make that notification now. It's gonna be raining shit."

"What a great way to start the day," she sighed and moved towards the corridor. "Want me to pick up a coffee for you on the way back?"

"Sure. The Minister's Office has always the best."

"You know it, I know it..."

She disappeared in the corridor and for a long moment he could hear the clicking of her heels and snoring of the Auror sleeping in the social room. He thought of his own empty house with his empty cold bed, about how divorce rate was the highest amongst the Aurors these days, and shook his head. Aniqua was a beautiful woman. Maybe he would ask her to go and have a drink with him, who knows. That is, if they both make it out alive.

While his normal, human eye was focused on the report he was finishing up, the magical one landed on Charlus' empty desk. His friend was sick, he knew. It started with some sort of dark object, Moody didn't know the details, he had his own caseload to worry about. But then Charlus caught every flu, every disease that was floating around the office. Finally the mediwizards decided it was time for him to stay at home, even if the Aurors Office was desperately in need of its every thinking, breathing member. The young recruits were just that - young recruits who didn't know shit. Moody felt that on his own skin when he got one kid tailing him during cases.

Good kid. Terrible idiot.

Alastor shook his head again, signed the report and went to the social room to maybe find a stale bagel or something else for his breakfast. But before he could open the door, a messenger - just a kid, another one of those straight out of Hogwarts types - run in.

"Auror Moody!" he panted, red and sweaty in the face. "There's been a murder. Murders."

"I'm not gonna like this one, am I."

The boy looked straight at him and winced.

"No, sir."


	11. Chapter 11

Anton Dolohov was trembling. He was sitting on Aldric's bed in the middle of the morning and trembled in silence. Lestrange cancelled all the meetings he had planned for the day, ordered the house elves to bring enough food to last them a week and then locked his wing of the manor with a barrage of powerful spells, all while being worried out of his mind. Anton looked broken. In all the years, he's seen him in this state only once - just after Clementine died. Finally, when Aldric was sure no one will try to contact them (for once, the Dark Lord could wait), he hesitantly stepped into the bedroom. It didn't look as if Anton had noticed him, he had this absent look on his face. Aldric sat next to him on the bed, their shoulders touching, sharing his silence.

"What did you do?" he asked after a long while. Dolohov didn't answer but shivers got worse. Aldric turned so that he would be facing Anton's profile and slowly, to give him a chance to escape, pulled the trembling man into his arms and just held him. "What did you do?" he asked again, whispering.

"I killed Margareth Foust," answered quietly Dolohov after minutes passed. Aldric felt his breath catch.

"The head editor of the Prophet?"

"Yeah, her. And her..." His voice broke into a sob. "And her two kids."

Lestrange closed his eyes, praying to all deities - or maybe just to whoever was listening - that it's just a bad dream. Unfortunately, no such luck. His arms tightened around Dolohov. 

"He told you to?"

"Yes. She was... digging for something, some sort of journalistic investigation. She was too close to something about the Minister. Tom... Tom called me to Tintagel, used the tattoo. He said...he said that she had to die, we had to send a message. And that there would be some sort of distraction so I could..."

"So you could kill her."

Aldric felt the man in his arms wince and tightened his hold on him again in silent apology.

"Yeah. But she wasn't in the office, like Tom said she would be. Her kid was sick."

"Oh gods..."

"She was home. So I went to her home, I didn't want him to be angry with me. Robe and mask, just like I was told. Like the good, rabid dog I am..."

"Hush, Anton. Hush..."

"No, you need to hear it. All of it. I went to her home, she didn't have good wards. But she started fighting when she saw me, she tore off my mask... I killed her. Avada. Fast and clean. But when I looked up... The kids, Aldr. The kids were there, looking at me. They didn't run, they were too small to...to..."

Lestrange held the weeping man and thought of two dead kids - Margareth Foust was a mother of three year old twins. A boy and a girl. Cute kids, he saw them at some fundraising event in London, he remembered. Now they were dead, small and dead like dolls. Good gods. What was Tom thinking?

When the weeping subsided, Aldric pressed a kiss to Anton's forehead.

"You did what you were told to do," he reminded the man, forcing the words out. "You swore allegiance, remember? We both did. We promised to do everything that he asks of us, and you did, Anton. You were just following the orders. Don't forget that."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," muttered Anton into Aldric's robes. "I'm a murderer, I have blood on my hands, it's been there for years. There's nothing that can make it any better."

Lestrange swallowed a wave of anger towards the Dark Lord. Going to Tintagel to yell at Voldemort wouldn't help anyone and would probably get him killed, he knew. But it angered him to see Antonin in this state, it angered him to even think about the dead children and high-profile investigation that had probably already started. There was a vengeance-hungry widower. And two little coffins...

"We'll survive this," he whispered because what the hell was he supposed to say? That a mixture fear and anger was almost choking him? "We've always had."

Anton sighed and slowly sat straight again.

"I'll try and get some sleep," he muttered, not looking Aldric in the eyes. Lestrange knew, why. He was afraid of what he would see in them. Gently but forcefully he took Anton's face between his hands and made him turn to look straight at him. 

"I will not judge you," he said. "I will not condemn you, nor will I stop loving you because you did what you were told to do by a man we both serve. It's a shitty situation but I refuse to allow it to break us.”

Dolohov nodded, dumbfounded. Aldric kissed him, gently but with the sort of desperation he hasn't felt in a long time. 

"Now drink the Dreamless Sleep and take a nap. There's a bottle in the bathroom cabinet."

When Dolohov was safely cocooned in the blankets and asleep, Aldric sat down in his study, reality crashing down on him. The man in his bed murdered another three human beings. There would be political pressure. Aurors Office would spare no expense, in both monetary and human resources. Foust's investigations would be looked at and checked for possible motive - and Aldric knew how that one would end. Anton's life would be in jeopardy, Azkaban and Dementor's Kiss almost certain in this situation.

He needed advice.

He needed someone who could look from afar, who could see the bigger picture and tell Aldric what was best. Pack, change identity, knock Anton unconscious and let him wake in the States where they could start anew? Stay and fight? Blame it on someone else? Or maybe even betray Voldemort since Anton would always come first, no matter what.

Yes, he needed advice and this time he couldn't go to Mulciber or Malfoy or any other Death Eater. He was alone with this. With a heavy sigh, Aldric left the wing, locking it safely behind him.

Few minutes later he was on the doorstep of the Grimmauld Place townhouse.

*

"So what did the prince of snakes want?"

Orion burst out laughing and looked at his wife.

"Prince of snakes? Is that how they call him these days?"

Walburga nodded and reached for a jar of sweet smelling lavender hand crème that always stood on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

"Among others. The knitting circle has an...opinion about him. When Genevieve is not in the room, of course. There are other, less modest names for him, my husband."

"Yes, I suspected there might be..." The patriarch of the house of Black left his night slippers near the bed and slipped under the covers. He gestured at the newspaper his wife had on her lap. "He wanted to talk about this."

"The Foust murder? How so?"

"Apparently he knows someone involved."

Walburga watched her husband for a little while and nodded after some deliberation.

"Dolohov. He trusted you with such a secret?"

"He didn't tell me anything directly so even if the Ministry thugs wanted to interview me, I honestly couldn't say anything of use. And he's just lost, wife of mine, he's a lost little boy how has just now understood the weight of his sins. Or at least he acts like one."

"So what did you tell him? Did you advise him to run?"

Orion smoothed the pillow under his hand and shook his long, white beard.

"I told him to stay and prepare to fight. If he runs now and this little tyrant of his wins, they'll both get killed no matter where they go. Same if he goes to Dumbledore now. So I told him to act like everything is fine, keep their heads down for some time and hope for the best. Why, do you think I did wrong?"

She hummed, looking at the front page of the newspaper.

"His lover killed two innocent children."

"You know one cannot successfully Obliviate such young minds. He probably acted of self-preservation. Or sheer stupidity, I can't say for sure which one..."

Walburga sighed softly and patted his arm with fondness.

"I'm sure you said what is the best thing to do for him now. All he can do now is wait. At least it will be an entertaining thing to observe, don't you think?"

Orion laughed again.

*

It was all over.

The end of the year feast was finished, students were slowly trickling out of the Great Hall, sleepy and sated, their bellies full and heads ready for the summer. The graduating class was mostly still in the Hall, unwilling to go back to their respective common rooms yet. They were on the verge of the rest of their lives. Packing and sleep could wait - who knew when they would see each other again. If they did. Severus had waited for Lily to leave, wanting to say his goodbyes and maybe try to mend fences for the last time. He was in luck, she was alone.

"Lily?"

She stopped in her tracks when he called out to her but didn't turn to look at him.

"What do you want?"

He sighed, so much for counting on her good will.

"I'm so sorry, Lily."

She laughed bitterly and turned on her heel to face him. Severus was almost taken aback by the anger visible on her face, anger and sadness and confusion...and he didn't know, what else. He simply didn't recognize the emotion.

"You're sorry? Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Sev. Not after all this time. Look, I've got to go..."

"I just wanted to say goodbye."

"And you couldn't wait until tomorrow? Honestly, Sev. I'll see you on the train."

She left in a hurry, heels clicking on the stone floors, and for a long time he stood still, watching her go. Memory of the tempo of her steps, of the light playing in her long hair, flowing of her skirt. When the sound of her heels became inaudible, he sighed and slowly walked towards the undercastle, taking the long road and avoiding all the corridors Marauders could ambush him in. After all, it was also their last chance to properly say goodbye and his mood was awful even without it.

He knew he'll be back. He still had at least two years of his Apprenticeship to complete; in a year he will take over teaching first three years of students, and a year after that he'll assume the position of Hogwart's Potions Master while Slughorn would start his comfortable retirement. But Hogwarts he will return to will be Hogwarts without Lily Evans. He would miss seeing her, of course. He would never stop.

Severus sighed softly and entered the Slytherin common room. He had a trunk to pack.

 

_ Sev, _

_ I looked for you at the train station - and in the train - but I didn't see you. Some Ravenclaw said you were already gone. Apparated from Hogsmeade. _

_ Sev, you could have told me you wouldn't be boarding the Express. _

_ There's been a lot of words between us, wasn't there? Too much anger and not enough listening. I recognize this as an error of both of our ways and I'm sorry if you believed you needed to fit in with your Slytherin clique because I made you feel like this. I should have been a more attentive friend. But you shouldn't have called me names and, really, you know what I think about this Dark Lord of yours and his ideas about blood purity. I just hope we won't find ourselves facing each other in a battle. _

_ Dumbledore said you'll be going forward with your Apprenticeship with old Slug - I'm glad. With your brain, you'll be a great teacher one day (not sure about the attitute, though. Work on that!). I hope that in a couple of years I'll be sending my kids to school, and that you'll look after them for me.  _

_ But there's a war on the horizon and I'm starting to fear it is all just a nice wish, a dream that will never come to pass because I'll end up dead, or you'll end up in Azkaban, or... There are dark days ahead. Don't get swept up in the storm. _

"Lily? It's almost time."

"I'm coming, James. Just a moment more."

_ I hope one day we'll sit down as friends and laugh about it all. In fact, I’m counting on it. Just remember that and be careful. I can’t forgive you if one or both of us are dead. _

_ Love, _

_ Lily _

The witch sealed the letter, tied it to the owl's leg and sent it out into the warm summer evening. She smoothed out her robes, the engagement ring on her finger catching the slowly dying light. Lily's lips formed a small, soft smile at the sight. Everything was happening so fast but with James' parents in a bad condition, they wanted to get married as soon as possible. After all, she was sure he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with so why wait? There was a war going on, they didn't have time to waste. She took a deep breath, taking in the mixed scents of the flowers in the garden, closed the window and walked to the other room, where James and Sirius were waiting for her.

"I'm ready," she announced with a smile. "Let's go become the full members of the Order."

 

The Great Hall was once again filled with noise. Now that the students were enjoying the summer break and so was the majority of the staff, Dumbledore allowed himself to hold the meetings in the biggest room Hogwarts had to offer. Of course, it was a bit too large for their needs - it was a theoretical, administrative meeting, after all, not a training session - but it was comfortingly familiar to most of the members. Gone were long tables of four houses. Dumbledore decided on a large, oval table where everyone were equal.

He nodded with satisfaction as the Hall started to fill out, witches and wizards greeting each other, taking their places around the table, chattering merrily. There was an atmosphere of impatient expectation in the air. Their youngest, not yet introduced members were standing in the corner in a group, nervously laughing under their breaths, visibly excited. 

"I don't remember ever being this enthusiastic about a war," Minerva commented quietly. Dumbledore swallowed a chuckle. 

"They're young, they don't understand. Let them keep their innocence for a little while, my dear, I assure you we'll miss it sooner than we'd like."

"I suppose you're right. Now, don't you have a meeting to run?"

Minerva was a practical woman. It was a good, useful trait. As much as she admired Dumbledore and his noble ideas, his insights and opinions, someone in the Order had to get things done. Minerva was just this: the go-to woman. Now, she watched Albus welcome the members of the Order and launch into a lengthy speech about their goals and the darkness that was coming. Bunch of crap, she thought to herself. The darkness wasn't coming, the darkness was already there. 

The newest members were young, hopeful and almost completely useless, in her opinion. James Potter hasn't yet started the shortened Auror's course, Sirius Black was a solid dueller but he was too unreliable and distracted too easily, poor Peter was just dragged along for the ride by his more talented friends and Remus Lupin... Well, not many people knew about Lupin's little secret but Minerva wasn't just anyone. And she knew that having one of their most talented researchers out of order for three days every month just wouldn't cut it in the crisis. Lily soon to be Potter would have to cover for him, she decided. With Albus having his mind set on the big picture, Minerva knew she would be responsible for utilizing their newest additions and had already started to make a mental list of everything she could use them for.

Minerva's gaze caught Alastor Moody's eyes. He rolled them discreetly and she had to stifle a laugh, her spirits a bit higher now that she wasn't the only one who considered Albus' speeches tedious. They had better things to do than pat themselves on the backs, for Gryffindor's sake!

She clapped when everyone else clapped, smiled with her lips tightly pressed and stood up as soon as the meeting was over. Minerva almost missed the announcement of James and Lily's marriage ceremony, too preoccupied with other things. Almost.

"I take it Charlus is not doing well?" she asked quietly when she had a chance to catch Moody alone. The Auror nodded with a grunt. Minerva felt the weight in her stomach become a little bit heavier. "Let's talk in my quarters. I have Irish coffee, if you'd like..."

"Lead the way."

She smiled, took a quick look if Albus didn't need anything - he didn't, apparently, deep in conversation with Emmeline Vance - and gestured for Alastor to follow her. Together they quickly passed through empty, silent corridors.

"Strange, seeing the castle without all the people," he observed when Minerva was unlocking the doors to her rooms. She walked inside and invited him in, the heavy doors closed behind him with a thud.

"I actually like it," she muttered. "Please, sit. Coffee with whiskey?"

"Whiskey with coffee."

Minerva laughed and started making the coffee in two mugs, a bottle of Firewhiskey ready on the side. As she did that, Alastor sat in an old, comfortable armchair, stood up, moved it so his back would be to the wall, sat down again and discreetly looked around. Minerva's rooms were... maybe not empty but lacking the woman's personality. There was a set of well-used armchairs and a couch, a coffee table between them, bookcases reaching the high ceiling, a desk and comfortable looking chair, both now drowning in school paperwork. No pictures or paintings on the walls, no personal knick-knacks... A cat bed near the fireplace. Nothing else.

"I know it's not much," she startled him from his musings, handing him the mug and sitting down in the other armchair. "I have a house in Hogsmeade, I don't consider this my home."

"Ah, that would explain it," Alastor smiled and took a sip of the hot beverage. "Mmmm, splendid. Now tell me, what is it you wanted? Oh, come on. You didn't invite me out of the kindness of your heart, Minnie."

She scoffed.

"How do you know, maybe you look terrible enough to move my cold heart."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, you do, but in fact I really wanted to ask you some questions. Albus has sometimes trouble sharing the news he gets, you know. Like what's going on with Charlus."

Auror shook his head and took another sip, relishing in the tell-tale burn of the alcohol in his throat.

"We don't know. An investigation he was conducting ended with him getting his hands on some dark artifact of sorts, it was in his desk for a couple of days, people around started getting sick with Charlus getting the worst of it. He must have taken it home, breaking the fucking protocol, because Euphemia is almost as sick as he is. If it's not flu, it's stonescale, if it's not stonescale, it's something else... We don't know. The artifact was destroyed but nothing's changed, spellworkers can't help. Mediwizards say they're both getting weaker fast."

Minerva cursed softly under her breath.

"It's getting worse out there, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "The Manahan and Foust murders happened on the same night, six dead total in a span of merely hours. We're understaffed and overworked, Minnie. I honestly have no idea how long we can keep it up before the whole thing implodes."

"Ironic. We're hoping that the Dark Lord will start his offensive soon because all he has to do to catch us with our robes down is to just wait us out."

"I know. But, Minnie, if I'm being honest... I'm not sure whether or not we'll win even if he attacks now."

"How so?"

"I've slept maybe three hours in the last six days. I haven't been to my house for... a month? Something like that. And we're all like that. I honestly hope he attacks soon or we're screwed beyond our imagination."

Minerva nodded, stood up and left the room, only to come back with a pillow and red and moss-green quilt.

"Come on, the couch is comfortable and you have a couple of hours before you have to get back. I'll keep watch and wake you up if any owls turn up."

Moody was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	12. Chapter 12

There is wisdom in old sayings. Like this one: be careful what you wish for because gods have a twisted sense of humor and with a dash of bad luck, you might just get what you wanted.

Moody got his wish in late October, on a cold and nasty evening.

Quite a few people wouldn't get to sleep that night. The Minister and his advisors, his coordinators with the Aurors Office spent it in the Ministry's war room, huddled over tactical maps and charts that updated themselves magically, showing the events of that night almost at the same time as they happened. Gallons of coffee were drunk, and at least a handful of calming potions were distributed amongst the tired and stressed staff. Somewhere out there, on the coastal wall of the Great Britain, the fate of the war was being decided.

Another group was scattered all across London, impatiently waiting for owls with reports, drinking Firewhiskey and playing cards to kill the time. Aldric, Anton and Robert were in the Lestrange Hall, mostly silent, the conversation slow and lackluster. From time to time an owl flew in and dropped a piece of parchment, other times it was a firecall from the Tintagel.

"We should just apparate there and watch it as it happens," repeated Dolohov for the hundredth time that evening. "I know a few good vantage points..."

"For fuck's sake, Anton, this again? No, we're not going anywhere near the coast. If the attack fails, we don't want to be around. If the attack succeeds, we'll hear about it. Now sit your ass down." Mulciber looked more and more irritated as Anton kept pacing around the room.

"What, you wanna go to the duelling room, burn some of that energy, Robert?"

Mulciber's hand twitched towards his wand so Lestrange decided it was high time for him to intervene.

"Boys, you can kick each other in the duelling ring any time tomorrow. Can we act like the grown up, responsible advisors to the man who had just started an open war with wizarding Britain? Let go of that wand, Anton. Thank you. Now sit the fuck down, you start to irritate me too."

"I'm still saying it's too early," grumbled Mulciber, reaching for his glass. "If it fails, we're not ready to deal with the fallout."

"Giants walking through the sea and attacking a well-armed system of camps with Auror forces. What could go wrong," Aldric replied, cynicism pouring out of his words. Dolohov snorted.

"You're both bothered because you weren't consulted on this plan."

"I'm bothered because my idiot son, his idiot wife, and Adolpheus fucking Travers were a big part of the team that divised this plan. Honestly, Anton, do tell, would you really put them in charge of the most important push of the war? They don't know what the hell they are doing."

Mulciber hummed.

"Look at this from another perspective, Aldric. If it fails, the Dark Lord will regret his decision to exclude us and we can just gain from it. If it's a success, well. We can recount our opinions in the morning and retire."

"Yeah, right."

 

It was raining. Of course it was raining, no war ever started on a nice night. It was cold, raining, a storm was raging and waves crashed into the shore constantly, leaving Aurors on the battlements soaking wet. But that wasn't even the biggest problem.

Of course there were giants.

Hundreds of them, walking through the stormy seas like it was nothing. Thank Merlin for the fact that they were visible from miles away and the sentries had enough time to start the alarm and get reinforcements. If the Dark Lord's people thought of some way of disguising the coming charge, there would be a big chance the Ministry's forces wouldn't react on time. 

Moody shuddered, thinking about what would happen if giants were simply portkeyed behind the line of first defense.

Alastor stood on the edge of the cliff, silently watching the slow march and soft green glow of wards being activated. He felt movement behind him and turned with his wand in his hand to face the person unwise enough to surprise an Auror.

"Hello, Alastor," Dumbledore said with a soft smile that disappeared a second later when the Headmaster took a good look at the oncoming charge. "That's not what we've expected."

"Yeah, better than the alternative." Moody turned again to look at the giants. It was an impressive sight, after all. Behemoths parting the angry waves. They weren't even dressed for battle - though then again, they didn't really have to. Skin of a giant is very hard to pierce and they have staggering resistance against most non-lethal warfare spells.

"Did the Ministry said anything about the means you can use?"

Moody nodded, his eyes stormy, his every muscle tight and ready for battle. Wind change its direction again, now billowing their robes.

"We were authorised to use Avada and potentially lethal spells. But there are many kids here who have never cast an Avada in their life, Albus."

Dumbledore sighed softly, the sound immediately taken away by the wind.

"And thus dies the innocence. I've brought all the fighters Order could spare. Others are protecting the Ministry. Just in case."

"Just in case..." repeated Alastor and closed his eyes for a second. "Haven't thought of that, actually. Gods, I'm too tired for this."

Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder gave him a little bit of courage, and a little bit of strength.

"Hold on tight, my friend, and dig in. This is going to be a very long night, I'm afraid. I'll see you on the other side of it."

Moody nodded and the Headmaster wondered off, probably going to find a weak spot in the defense line. And Godric only knew, there were many. There were holes in the line, and there were kids straight out of Hogwarts. Moody turned away from the oncoming attack and looked around the encampment. Somewhere in the distance he saw Minerva but she didn't stop, she was running somewhere down the line. Charlus' son and his best friend, that Black kid, were helping another pair of young men get into their protective dragonscale gear. Children. He was surrounded by children.

With a sigh of defeat, he turned away again and braced himself for the battle.

 

The battle itself was a blur.

When the first giants came within the range of their spells and started hitting the wards - magical walls trembling under the force they were being pounded with - all hell broke loose. Messengers were apparating back and forth with reports no one listened to, members of the Orders used their patronuses to exchange the information much more efficiently which meant they were the first responders to any and all reports of wards being broken. At one point Moody sent out a patronus to remind those members of the Order who weren't Aurors or Aurors in training that the authorised use of Avada didn't include them.

To him, it seemed absolutely stupid but he was in no position to discuss it at length with the Ministry because that was the moment the wards broke down.

He cursed under his breath and started casting everything that came to mind - cutting curses, burning charms, blinding charms, spells that were designed to break bones and crush the internal organs. But not many of these hit their targets, most just... slipped from the giants' skin. So he sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening, to maybe save his soul, and started casting Avada Kedavra.

 

James was overwhelmed.

The giants were coming. He lost sight of Sirius in the meelee. He couldn't hear anything but the terrible screams of the coming male and female giants, who were now under the barrage of spells.

It was the first time he saw a giant. Before, he's seen them in their Defense books but the theory gave in when met with reality. James didn't think any of his spells worked. For a fleeting moment he wondered if after this night his future children would meet a living giant, or if maybe they would all die this night.

"What are you doing, boy?!" an older Auror grasped James' arms and shook him violently. "Avada them! Stop playing!"

The man disappeared into the chaos. James took a deep breath, raised his wand and allowed the killing curse to roll out of his tongue.

 

In the first light of the morning, the waves were red with blood. The battle was won, this much Minerva knew. It was the only realization that got through the fog of exhaustion into her tired, numb mind. They've won. There were still a few giants left, trying to change the outcome of the attack, but it was too late for that. It was done. And now the sea was red and dead bodies floated like small islands in the early morning light.

Minerva sat on some overturned tree and looked around.

It wasn't that they've lost a lot of people. Only a handful of giants managed to make it to the shore and true, they've killed a couple of trainee Aurors, but they've been dealt with rather fast. It was the emotional toll that Minerva was worried about.

She almost didn't notice when did Alastor limp towards her and sat just next to her. She could feel the warm of his body seeping into her cold bones. Minerva sighed with grattitude. And then they just sat there side by side, in tired silence watching shellshocked people pass them by. 

Some time after eight a cleaning crew from the Ministry arrived, along with fresh reinforcements of Aurors pulled from posts in Ireland and Scotland. Someone pushed a cup of coffee into Minerva's hands and she drank it mechanically, don't even registering the taste. 

"Come on," she said finally, waking Moody from his stupor. "Let's go get some sleep."

With a tired sigh, he reached for her hand and they disapparated, not noticed by anyone.

 

Aldric read the note, blinked, read it again and handed it to Mulciber without saying a word. Then, he took the quater-full bottle of Firewhiskey and emptied it contents into his mouth without bothering with a glass.

Mulciber drained his glass and gave the note to Dolohov, who was almost buzzing with nervous energy. The dueller read it and started laughing. It was the histerical kind of laugh that spread like a sickness, and soon all three of them were roaring with mirthless laughter. After a while, the laughter died out and Aldric stared at the morning sky thoughtfully.

"Well, at least now we know," muttered Mulciber. "How soon do you think we can expect the summons to Tintagel, gentlemen?"

"Ha. He'll wait until the evening, stew in his own anger and let the geniuses who fucked up tremble in fear." Aldric closed his eyes for a moment. "I'd expect a full Inner Circle meeting so let's sober up, get some sleep and try very hard not to let the Schadenfreude show."

"You're enjoying this a little too much," said Dolohov with mild articulation problems. Yes, lack of sleep and great amounts of alcohol didn't mix well. "Isn't your son's life on the line?"

"And? It's not like I don't have a spare..."

"Ass."

"Yep. Robert, would you like me to order the elves to prepare a guest room for you? I don't think you should apparate now."

"Yeah, that would be much appreciated."

Lestrange laughed suddenly.

"I should have told the elves to make a photograph of Bellatrix's face when she was told that the offensive has failed."

Dolohov roared with laughter, stood up, stumbled and made his way towards the exit.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Aldr, you coming?"

Aldric finished what he had in his glass, showed Mulciber to the hastily prepared guest room and followed Dolohov. They had a meeting to prepare for.

*

Severus really didn't know what the fuss was all about.

He was sitting in Malfoy's study, hunched over Potions books he needed for his latest assignment, with Narcissa keeping him company. She was waiting for Lucius to return from the meeting of the Inner Circle - event to which Severus was not summoned since he didn't earn the right to the privilege of having the Dark Mark. He supposed his best friend's new wife was simply happy that she wasn't alone. Severus knew that Narcissa wasn't too comfortable in the Wiltshire manor yet - she came from a house full of people, the empty manor had to seem dull and boring to her.

"Have you thought about becoming one of...the Dark Lord's supporters?" he asked to break the silence. She looked up from the newspaper she was reading and hummed softly.

"I support his cause," she said in her melodic voice. "But I have no wish of a more proactive role in his rebellion. Unlike my sister, I prefer to focus on other matters, closer to home."

"I'm sorry if my question was out of line, Narcissa."

Lady Malfoy laughed and put down the Prophet, with its headline screaming about Auror bravery and a giant attack on the coastal wall. Severus supposed that's what the meeting was all about and couldn't wait for Lucius to come home and tell him.

"It's fine, Severus. Would you care for some tea and maybe a cookie? I believe the house elves have some fresh butterscotch..."

Snape smiled, deciding to be generous towards the new lady Malfoy.

"With pleasure, Narcissa."

 

When Snape was having tea with lady Malfoy, her husband had a very long and unpleasant evening. True, at least he managed to avoid getting the blame for the giants fiasco by carefully reminding the Dark Lord that he wasn't in the group he assigned the operation to. But he still had to stand in the windy, cold cavern of Tintagel's main hall and watch others get punished.

Right now Adolpheus Travers, the man who in his genius decided that portkeying the giants was a bad idea and they should just walk because it would put the fear into the hearts of their enemies, was writhing on the floor under the Crucio from Voldemort's own wand. A bit further to the left Bellatrix was kneeling, making small, broken noises in the back of her throat, the shock of Crucitatus Curse still shaking her nervous system. Rodolphus was in a similar state, standing only because his younger brother helped him. Lucius stole a quick look at Aldric Lestrange - his control over his facial expression was admirable. If Malfoy hadn't have the opportunity to study the man during the long meetings held by Mulciber, he would have missed the beginnings of a satisfied, cold smile in the corners of his lips.

The Dark Lord finally cut the spell short and stood over Travers, disgust visible on his face.

"You have failed me," he hissed and the tone of his voice sent chills down Lucius' spine. "Make sure it doesn't happen again or I cannot ensure your...survival."

"Yes, my Lord," muttered Travers, shivering. "Forgive me, my Lord."

Without another word, the Dark Lord left the room, his robes billowing with every step. When he disappeared from sighed, the atmosphere of fear disspelled, and the gathered Death Eaters breathed easier. Lucius saw Rookwood help Bella stand up, someone else took care of Travers. Many things could be said about the younger members of the brotherhood but not that they left their own in the cold.

"That was more satisfying than I expected," said Aldric, loudly enough for Malfoy to hear him. "Though now we need to find a way out of this spectacular mess, which is going to be much less enjoyable experience."

Mulciber shrugged as their group slowly turned towards the exit from the building, with Malfoy following.

"I don't even know where to being, Aldric. I'm not sure if the Dark Lord even understands what this will do to our timeline, let's not forget that the Ministry will now up their security efforts and look for someone to blame for the invasion. And, as we are all well aware of, we're the perfect targets thanks to the recent murders."

Lestrange sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking very tired and very old. The exhaustion, both mental and emotional, of the last days showed clearly on his face and Malfoy was hit by how much these men were sacrificing for the Dark Lord on a daily basis. He fleetingly wondered if he would look so worn in couple of years if the war wasn’t over soon.

“I have no strength to even think about this right now. Tomorrow, noon, my house. Lucius? Would you like to join us?”

“Of course, Aldric, it would be an honor.”

“Well, for sure it won’t be a pleasure, that much I think is clear. Robert, make sure you have the latest reports on how much damage we’re looking at, and I’ll talk to my people in the Ministry, maybe they’ll have something interesting to share. Anton? You coming?”

"That's what happens when you leave important plans in the hands of incompetent people," grumbled Dolohov suddenly. "No go on that lovely retirement plan, I assume?"

"No retirement in the nearest future, Anton, I'm afraid."

"Damn," said the dueller as they neared the apparition point. "I really looked forward to these drinks with little umbrellas."

Malfoy snorted and disapparated, not willing to wait any longer.

*

"I don't remember the last time I've been this tired," whispered Albus to himself, heavily sitting down behind his desk and sighed with relief. It was this bone-deep, mind-numbing exhaustion that left him restless and unable to close his eyes. The images of hundreds of enormous bodies floating in the red waves would haunt him for a long time, he knew. But it had to be done, there was no other way, he reminded himself. There was no kind of diplomacy that would have worked. So they had to use brute force in order to survive and in order to protect the country they've been entrusted with protecting. It was a justified massacre.

The thought wouldn't help him sleep at night, though.

He knew how this worked. After that terrible, tragic day when he duelled his beloved friend who turned into a monster Albus couldn't sleep for months. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the broken, betrayed expression on Gellert's face, a face that grew older in a matter of minutes during their duel. They've both started as wizards in their prime and ended being tired old men after two hours of grueling offense and defense. Two more hours after that he was still standing while Gellert was kneeling on the grass, begging Albus to kill him and get it over with for he was afraid of being locked in a jail cell.

Which was precisely what happened.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, thinking that he ought to get up, change his clothes, eat something and get some sleep but he even thinking about it was exhausting. He was just considering the merit of transforming his desk into a cot when a soft knocking on the door drew his attention.

"Yes?" he called out. A ragged-looking Minerva entered, expression on her face serious and maybe even a little haunted. "What is it, my dear?"

She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"Charlus Potter died last night. Euphemia passed a couple of minutes ago."

Dumbledore cursed softly and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Minerva was still standing in the doorway.

"How?"

"Dragonpox, I think. Lily couldn't give me too many details, James wasn't...he was with us when it happened. She has her hands full right now."

"And so the old guard gives place to the younger generation. Poor children," Albus sighed and nodded. "Did they at least manage to get married before the Potters passed?"

"Yes, Lily said she wanted to be James' wife in case he didn't come back from the battle."

"Small compensation." Dumbledore stood up with an effort. "Go, get some sleep, Minerva. We'll deal with it when we're both not looking like we're going to fall on our faces any second."

The witch sent him a grateful if somewhat sad smile and left, probably heading towards her rooms. Albus ignored the protests of his tired body and the pain of his feet, and slowly moved in the general direction of his bed.

Outside of the Headmaster's rooms, the school was coming to life with first students heading for breakfast while others awoke to brilliant autumn sun shining over the castle.

 

The Potter's burial in Godric's Hollow was very much a political affair.

Charlus Potter was a well-known and equally well-respected member of the Auror force, not to mention the fact that his death - as well as the death of his wife - was most probably caused by an artifact he came in contact with because of his job. This made the Ministry's presence at the ceremony double, or even triple, from what it would have been if the circumstances were different. Euphemia Potter was loved in the community of Godric's Hollow, a staple of it, always present where she was needed and always ready to help if necessary. There wasn't an inhabitant of the village who didn't appear at the ceremony to give their respects to the orphaned James and his young, beautiful wife.

The Auror Corps was represented in great numbers, as was the Order. All in all, the small cemetery was filled with people and flowers, more than slightly overwhelming the grieving son of the couple.

"Aldric Lestrange sent flowers,” Minerva muttered to Alastor Moody. They were both wearing darker robes - he in his usual black with silver Auror crest, she in deep green with Hogwart's crest. The couple was one of the few guarding the perimeter to ensure the Dark wizards wouldn't disrupt the ceremony for any reason. 

"How nice of him." Irony was just dripping from Moody's words. "Did anyone check for dark curses?"

"I think Albus discreetly burned the whole thing, just to be on the safe side. I know, I know. Constant vigilance."

The auror shrugged.

"There's no such a thing as being too careful. Especially now that they're going to be fucking desperate."

"Makes me wonder..." She looked at the crowded cemetery. "Was this their win? Or was this just a coincidence that two Order members die? That of all the Aurors it was one who's entirely family is on our side?"

"It pains me to say this, Minnie, but Charlus wasn't careful. The Dark Lord's people had no way of knowing he'd keep the damn artifact. They could've been gunning for someone in the magical artifact's collection or even one of the clerks. That's the procedure, you get shit like that and you immediately hand it in."

"And he didn't."

"And he didn't. Now he's dead. But we have to be careful anyway."

Minerva hummed her agreement and shivered when the cold northern wind picked up again. 

"It's going to get worse before it gets any better, isn't it?"

Alastor patted her arm, looking very uncomfortable. She knew touching other people wasn't a thing he usually did so she appreciated the gesture even more.

"Dumbledore's gathering the inner circle of the Order after this. I guess the old man will tell us what will happen next. He still skimpy on the information?"

"Yeah," Minerva sighed quietly. "It would worry me more if I didn't trust him as much as I do."

Moody's gaze was sharp, just like his tone.

"Then let's hope it doesn't change, Minnie. For this war's sake."

 

The inner circle of the Order gathered in the Potter's living room, still in the robes they wore for the burial, the space magically enhanced to make sure everyone was comfortable and had a place to sit. As the small crowd settled in, Dumbledore stood up so that everyone could see him, and raised his hands slightly.

"My friends, thank you for coming. I know the timing is far from ideal and I apologize for that but unfortunately, the Dark Lord will not give us time for grieving. The giant offensive has failed," here he was interrupted by cheers and clapping. Minerva winced, seeing James' face, crumbled in a painful expression and close to tears. He was immediately consoled by Lily and young Sirius Black, sitting on the both sides of the grieving wizard. None of the Aurors present was cheering either.

Albus patiently waited for the cheers to subside.

"The offensive has failed but the threat is still out there," he continued. "Lord Voldemort will not stop. His forces are on the move already with big packs of werewolves coming. We should expect a partisan war."

"It'll put the civilian population at risk," observed Dorcas Meadows. "How can we protect them?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"We can't. We can train local self-defense groups, we can teach them spells and curses, but we can't actively protect everyone. I'm sorry, I know it doesn't feel right."

"Damn right it doesn't," barked Sirius. "They're defenseless and we're supposed to just sit on our arses while werewolves bite kids? That ain't right, Dumbledore."

"We don't have enough people or resources," growled Moody, staring at the young wizard before Dumbledore could answer. "Our help combined with Ministry's plan of protecting the smaller communities has to be enough, Black."

"And if it isn't?"

Auror's face was unreadable.

"Then there'll be more funerals to go to, pup."

"That's enough!" Dumbledore intervened before the discussion could be resolved by blows and curses. "We do the best with what we have, master Black. No amount of impertinence will change the fact that some things we simply do not have and we'll cope without them. Sometimes just hoping for the best possible outcome."

Sirius pursed his lips but didn't say anything more, maybe stopped by James' hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"Truth is, we have no way of predicting what these tossers will do next," muttered Moody. Someone in the back of the room complained that he was talking too quietly, they were immediately shushed by their neighbors. "We don't need more assets or more people, we need a fucking inside man. A spy."

One of the boys seated in close proximity to James Potter shifted nervously but no one paid him any mind. Dumbledore rubbed his forehead and nodded.

"That's a fair point, Alastor. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord seems to surround himself with wizards who are either too loyal or too scare of him to be even pursued. We tried. It failed."

"We tried?" Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "Why haven't we been informed?"

She watched Albus' facial expression grow hard and unreadable, his eyes became stormy. To the outsiders he appeared absolutely calm but those who knew him better saw what was happening in his head.

"In case we succeed and establish a spy within Lord Voldemort's organization, most of you will not be informed of their identity to protect the secrecy of the operation. All I can tell you right now is that I did send one of the Order members to pursue an agreement with a child of one of the more prominent supporters of the Dark Lord that we know of, and that this Order member is, unfortunately, deceased. No," his voice had something very hard and unpleasant to it. "This is the end of this topic of conversation the Order level, deepest sympathies to James and Lily for their loss. Schedules for training sessions with local self-defense groups will be created and circulated as soon as our liaison, Marlene," here the McKinnon witch stood up and bowed shortly, "is able to do so. Be vigilant, keep your eyes open, and stay safe. That's all for today, thank you."

Minerva watched Albus leave in a hurry, not stopping to chat with other members of the Order, as was his custom after usual meetings. Her lips tightened as the information slotted themselves in her head, creating new grids of connections.

"You thinkin’ what I'm thinkin’?" asked Moody in a quiet voice after they both said their goodbyes and left together. 

"Grizelde Manahan was an Order member," whispered Minerva. "She was also the daughter of Leta Lestrange."

"Which gives her ties to the Lestranges. The way I figure, Minnie, is that if I wanted a prominent family member of a known Dark Lord supporter to turn on his own father, I'd send someone who has blood ties to them. Seems like less of a betrayal, don't you think, Minnie?"

"Merlin's balls, stop calling me Minnie, Alastor. And I agree, that's a logical explanation. I couldn't figure out why the Manahans were attacked the same night that Foust woman was killed, I thought it was designed to be a distraction of sorts... What if it wasn't?"

"It's very in the Dark Lord's style to use one gobblestone to stain to robes."

They passed the cemetery. In the evening dusk, the place lit with magical lanterns and Muggle candles looked eerie. Minerva tore her eyes away from the sight, not wanting to think about the bodies of two friends they've laid under the ground today.

"Albus is right, we need an inside man but not for this price. Doesn't it bother you?"

"What?"

"The secrecy. We're out of the loop again, Alastor. It's starting to feel like we're just pawns on the board, moving as we're told, not informed about reasons and goals of the game."

Moody sighed and nodded.

"That too will get worse before it gets better, Minnie."


	13. Interlude 4

**Aldric Lestrange to Clementine Dolohov, three days after her funeral**

_ Clementine, _

_ He's so silent without you. I don't know how to console him even though I share the ever excruciating ounce of his pain. This loss has ripped his heart apart and I'm not sure if I can ever piece it back together. Is it even possible? Survive such a loss? Even if it doesn't kill him, he'll come out on the other side of it a man different than the one we've both known and loved. This knowledge adds to my own pain but it's just another loss amongst so many these days. Sometimes I'm not even sure if I can go on. If losing you and your child kills him, I'll be completely alone - and I'll gladly follow him and you into the next world. _

_ The world without you is such a cold place, Clementine. _

_ I thought we would have decades together. There are places we wanted to go, things to see and experience. I promised you a tango in Argentina and bagels in New York. We'll never get to do any of these now. This realization is just crushing and leaves me at a loss. For words, for sense, for reason... Somehow in a few short years you have managed to overcome every corner of my universe. It's empty now and my words fail me. _

_ He's a wreck. He doesn't know how to go on now, he locked us all out of the mansion, the elves inform me that he sits in the child's rooms, on the floor, waves of wild magic ripping through the house. I've seen cracks in the foundation. It can't go on for much longer but I don't have any ideas as to how to get through to him. I've left Mulciber trying to push through the cocoon of spells around the property. _

_ Robert's been very helpful since he's heard of your passing. I keep forgetting that his mother has died at a very young age too. I'm so wrapped in my grief, I forget about others. _

_ I've yelled at Tom Riddle today. The last time I did it we were in the third year and he had some idiotic ideas about the castle's wards and learning to apparate. You would have enjoyed the expression on his face, he was so surprised, he didn't even know what to do. I expect it to come back and bite me in the ass in the coming days but right now I can't care less. What is the point of going through with this revolution if you and your child won't be here to witness and enjoy it with us? What's the point of the world? _

_ You've left ruins in your wake, my dear. Your passing was a hurricane, a storm to a little ship on the open waters of an unsettled ocean. We're drowning without you, we're cold and half-dead ourselves. The sun will rise again, I know. I keep reminding myself of it. But for now, it's a dark and lonely night, my love. _

_ Vale. _


	14. Chapter 14

The clock on the fireplace mantel was ticking - it was the only audible sound in a complete silence. Mulciber and Aldric waited, from time to time exchanging impatient glances. The room was cold, as usually in Tintagel, and damp which didn't exactly help with the patient waiting for the Dark Lord to finally arrive. The two wizards received summons some time ago and were shown to the sitting room by a completely silent, elderly hag dressed in black robes. She disappeared the minute they sat down. All that was left for them to do was wait - in silence since they were pretty sure that any conversations would be listened to and scrutinized, either by the Dark Lord himself or one of his followers who lived in and maintained Tintagel. 

"Thank you for waiting," Tom strode into the room almost soundlessly, only a soft whisper of his robe and creak of the door announced his presence before he spoke. The two wizards stood up and then again sat down when Tom took his usual seat - the armchair standing with its back to the wall, giving the person seated in it a good view of the room. "I have just received some interesting news I wanted to consult with you."

"We live to serve," said Mulciber with a small, pleasant smile. Aldric could have sworn he heard a hint of sarcasm in his friend's voice. Tom's eyebrows drew together for a moment, only to relax again.

"Yes... Yes, you do. Anyway, the Order is unfortunately aware by the werewolf movements though so far made no effort to stop them. They will, however, teach the small communities how to fight. Which defense spells to use, how to contact the Auror Corps immediately. This sort of thing."

"What do you want us to do, my Lord?" asked Aldric, stopping himself from asking, how the hell did the Dark Lord obtain this kind of intel. Voldemort smiled unpleasantly.

"I was thinking about having you two pick a lone-standing settlements of Dumbledore supporters."

Mulciber thought this through and slowly shook his head.

"If I may, my lord... It'll only bring them together, build a community around their fears. It would be more constructive and probably more efficient to attack the communities themselves and show them that the Order cannot protect them."

"Divide and conquer," nodded Aldric in agreement. "It would require bigger amount of assets in use but I believe that Robert is right, it would also be more effective."

Riddle made a disappointed face but apparently quickly got over it because after a moment he too was nodding.

"And this is why I should have consulted the giant offensive with you, my friends. Good. Then please, single out the communities with weaker defenses and inform Fenrir Greyback, the smelly animal who runs the werewolf show. Just...don't send him house elves, spare an owl." A pained expression appeared on the Dark Lord's face. "I'm told he eats them. There were complaints."

Aldric heroically stopped himself from snorting.

After they were dismissed, he and Robert walk in silence for a little while, hurrying because of the overwhelming winter cold.

"He succeeded. He has a spy," muttered Mulciber, hiding the lower part of his face in his soft, Slytherin green scarf. 

"Apparently. The Order won't know what hit them though we have to be careful. If we overuse the spy's information, they'll know we have someone on the inside."

"You think he realizes that?"

Aldric sighed deeply as they neared the apparition point.

"Robert, he approved a plan that included giants slowly strolling through the sea. I've never doubted our fearless leader's intelligence."

Mulciber was still laughing when he disapparated.

Unbeknownst to the two wizards, said spy had slipped into the room they've left and took Mulciber's chair.

"My lord, was the information useful?"

Voldemort smiled, hearing the trembling note in his newest asset's voice.

"Yes, you were very helpful. I expect you to continue the good work, Peter."

His little rat smiled with pride and his small, black eyes glinted in the candlelight with happiness. Voldemort wasn’t overly fond of the fat ex-Gryffindor boy and was even suspicious when the subtle attempts at winning him over worked better than expected. No Crucitatus, no blackmail, not even an Imperius was needed to get Peter Pettigrew to join the Dark Lord’s forces.  It looked like a trap, like something literally too good to be true. But Dumbledore’s misfit was simply looking for someone to appreciate him and finally see his worth.

And Lord Voldemort saw it.

*

The newspapers were hysterical again. Another wave of disappearances his a few weeks after the giants fiasco, and adding to that were the werewolf attacks. The Prophet seemed to be very much confused by the idea of a pack attacking a wizarding village – apparently it was believed that only lone-standing homes would be at a risk.

“Idiots,” chuckled Severus and reached for his buttered toast with honey. As far as dinners go, this wasn’t ideal but Snape finally lived alone and even though he couldn’t afford to buy himself a house elf (and had categorically refused Malfoy’s proposition of loaning him one) he was proud of it because he made it himself. And this time it took only three burned slices of bread before he managed to fully master the spell.

Household charms were beginning to be something of a specialty of his these days.

Three months earlier Tobias Snape has finally succumbed to his drinking and fell from the stairs, breaking this neck. It was a complete accident, the Muggle police ensured Severus couple of times, just another reason why one shouldn’t take the steep stairs while inebriated. His son had inherited the house – and the first thing he did was to go to Narcissa and ask for every book on household charms and spells she knew.

Armed with the newly acquired knowledge, he spent two weeks cleaning, polishing, fixing, painting and refurnishing the house within his limited financial possibilities. It was cheaper to buy Muggle furniture and then magically transform it, he quickly found out, than to buy it in the Diagon Alley. Once the work was done, he moved his meager belongings from Malfoy Manor to Spinner’s End and started living by himself. Sure, it didn’t go without some hiccups – mostly because he had no idea how to cook for himself. He also forgot that the Prophet he read while in Wiltshire came by Malfoy’s yearly order. Now he had to establish one for himself. But he managed and Severus was even a little proud of these growing pains. He even wrote about them in his letters to Lily.

It was a very one-sided correspondence. The only reply he’s ever gotten was to his condolences note, a short and impersonal thank you – but he knew she was reading the letter he wrote to her. His owl always came back without a message tied to her foot but well-fed.  So he kept sending them, hoping that one day Lily would write him back. For now maybe his mishaps would at least amuse her.

His thoughts turned back to the newspaper and he turned the page to see the “missing persons” section. What he saw made him choke on his toast, summon his outer robes and disapparate within thirty seconds from reading a very familiar name.

 

“Regulus Black? Really, Lucius? You could have told me.”

The fair haired Slytherin groaned quietly and looked up from the serious-looking paperwork he was reading. 

“What about him, Severus?”

Snape sat down in a visitor’s chair facing Malfoy, his mouth tight and unpleasant expression on his face.

“He’s missing. Presumed dead. By the hand of our people, Lucius, so let me ask you again: really?”

Malfoy put away the paperwork and rubbed his chin for a little moment, completely silent.

“Drop it, Severus.”

“But…”

“I’ve been hearing things, true and I’m telling you, really, Sev, drop it. It’s a bad topic to be snooping around. Forget that you’ve ever known Reggie Black, forget that such a person ever existed, don’t talk about him with anyone, especially not with the Dark Lord’s supporters. Do not contact the Black family for any reason. I’m deadly serious here, Sev. If you want to survive, you will shut up and forget.”

It looked as if someone kicked Severus off the broom several feet in the air. 

“Can you at least tell me what happened?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted Malfoy with a grimace. “From what I’ve gathered, he started sniffing around something the Dark Lord didn’t want him to know. He was unhappy with how things are managed…the tortures, the Saturnalia celebrations. So he disappeared. Don’t ask, Severus. I beg you, don’t ask and stay safe.”

Severus didn’t ask.

*

"He's dead, Lestrange. My son is dead."

"Is he? Are you sure, Orion? I mean you no disrespect but I haven't heard anything about the Dark Lord giving a kill order, to be honest, I'm not even sure if he knew who Regulus was..."

The head of the noble house Black stood up from his armchair and with a flourish of his wand pointed at the wall brought up the impressive family tree. 

"Here, see? Date of birth, date of death. 1961-1979. My boy was eighteen years old, Aldric! Eighteen! My heir! And that bastard murdered him, I know it."

Lestrange swallowed a heavy sigh, for the hundredth time this year wishing that Tom Riddle would consult him before doing something incredibly stupid. Like killing Orion Black's little boy.

"First of all, my old friend, I'm so sorry for your loss. Regulus was a bright mind and he'll be sorely missed. That being said, I'm really not sure if the Dark Lord had anything to do with this. He truly had no reason."

"Says you. I know that Regulus had...issues with how the Dark Lord runs the business. The torture, the attacks on civilians. He didn't like the unnecessary violence."

"You think he went to Lord Voldemort and asked him to stop killing Muggles?"

"Maybe?"

Aldric groaned quietly as Orion sat down again, looking agitated. The man had aged overnight, to Lestrange it seemed that he was seeing a wizard over two hundred years old, not slightly less than eighty. The loss of his only loyal child, a male heir, had hurt Orion in ways Aldric couldn't even begin to understand. 

"My friend, if I may be frank: I don't think Regulus would get an audience with the Dark Lord. He's a very busy man and doesn't give his time freely to any young supporter. Honestly, I believe it went differently. Maybe the Order of the Phoenix tried to kidnap him to get something out of him - or of you - and something went wrong? Or maybe it was the Aurors, they're all over the place these days, especially with the authorized Unforgivables to use against the Lord's supporters. Honestly, there are other possibilities out there that make sense. Please, let me reach out to my associates, maybe I'll hear something."

Black nodded, looking very tired and impossibly frail. Aldric, feeling rather uncomfortable, hurriedly said his goodbyes and left probably faster than it was polite. He didn't care, though. Almost running, he got to his part of the house, found Anton splayed on the sofa in the parlor and finally sat down, still wearing his outer robes.

"I will fucking kill this idiot."

Dolohov looked up from a newspaper he was reading, eyebrows raised, and put the Prophet down. He sat up.

"Which idiot and what for?"

"Orion Black believes that Tom Riddle, our lord and savior, killed his kid."

"I've seen the article in the Prophet... Is he sure that Reggie is dead?"

"Yeah, one of these magical tapestries. By the way, I have to get one of these things for the family. Maybe one of these mornings I'll eat my breakfast seeing that one of my idiot sons is finally dead."

"Cynic."

"That's me."

"So Reggie's dead," Anton shrugged, not really caring. "Sure, it's troubling that Orion believes that Tom had anything to do with but... had he? Something to do with this?"

"That's the thing," finally getting out of his warm robes, Aldric sent them to the wardrobe with a move of his wand and settled comfortably in his favorite armchair. "I have no fucking idea. Little Reggie had some trouble with the violence and torture but I honestly don't think it would be enough to warrant an execution. That's what I told Orion, anyway. What I couldn't say to him is that according to Mulciber, Regulus was very interested in horcruxes. Maybe even overly interested."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"How many are there, anyway? I know about the diary, the locket and the ring, are there more?"

Aldric snorted without real mirth.

"Yeah, two. How the fuck did he get his hands on Hufflepuff's goblet and Ravenclaw's diadem, I don't know. But there are five horcruxes and I don't think he'll stop at this number."

"Fuck," repeated Anton, much more worried than he was few seconds before. "Are they well-protected at least?"

"That's a very subjective thing, you know. I don't know where the diary is. He's wearing the ring, the locket is hidden somewhere near Tintagel and Mulciber said Tom wanted some inferi for guarding something so that would be my guess. The diadem is in Hogwarts, one of the Carrows was tasked with hiding it - I don't know where, the child wouldn't know either since Tom wiped memories of both of them, just to be safe. The cup..." Here Aldric laughed bitterly. "He rewarded one of his loyal dogs with the priviledge of safekeeping the cup."

"Don't say..."

"Yeah. She has it in her vault."

"This is bad, Aldric, this is really bad."

"I know." Lestrange watched the fireplace roar back to life after Anton waved his hand toward its general direction. "I think it's time to think about some exit strategy, Anton. Just in case things go where dragons lay their eggs. If we have to run."

"Do you really think that things can get this bad?"

Aldric sighed softly and reached to take one of Aldric's hands into his.

"Three years ago I'd tell you that I trust the Dark Lord implicitly and that there is no way he'd turn on us. But now? I don't even know what to tell you. Maybe I'm wrong and it'll never come to this, maybe this year or next year we'll win and we'll all be happy. Right now I only know that I would feel much safer if we had a safe path out. A meeting place, in case we can't leave together."

"For your peace of mind, I'll take care of some things to secure one."

Aldric smiled and brushed a kiss on Dolohov's knuckles.

Right at this moment none of them knew that the precious locket with Salazar Slytherin’s own crest, one of the objects they were so worried about, has been in the hands of a very broken house elf. But none of that mattered. For now.

*

"Another report of Death Eater activity, this time from a small wizarding community near Cardiff..."

"Albus."

"They actually managed to kill two werewolves."

"Albus, this is pointless."

"No, it's not."

"It's a waste of time."

"I'm telling you, there's a pattern here."

Minerva looked at the Headmaster with incredulous expression on her face. They were sitting in her rooms, long after the bell calling for night silence rung, sorting through reports of any suspicious, weird or clearly Dark Lord-related incidents, courtesy of Aurors Office.

She knew Albus was desperately scrambling to find any pattern, any set of connections in order to be able to deduce the next move. But these days the Death Eaters seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what they'd have expected them to do so she couldn't help but feel they were wasting valuable time.

"Here's something. Orion Black has paid the Office another visit, this time in person, to inform that his son Regulus is missing and deceased so now they should be looking for a body. End of quote."

"That is actually interesting," she admitted, reaching for the piece of paper. The witch read it quickly, worrying her lower lip. "But how does he know that? I mean, if there is no body..."

"One of those clocks showing you the status of family members, perhaps?"

"Hmm, I think they have a way of informing about a loved one's death. But wasn't Regulus Black one of the suspected supporters?"

Dumbledore's fingers combed through his long beard as the man was deep in thought.

"This is why I find it so interesting, Minerva. And confusing, if I'm to be honest. I truly believed that young Regulus was a Death Eater, or at least in a path to become one."

Minerva looked into the fire, humming quietly under her breath.

"Maybe you were right and he was," she said suddenly. "It would show an internal conflict, a thing we were counting on years ago."

"Shame. If the boy really is dead, we can't use him as a spy."

The Transfiguration teacher looked at her friend sharply, searching for words to try and comment his remark. But she found none. It was a war, she knew. War needed sacrifices. But talking about how they could have used the child who is now dead... It didn't sit well with Minerva. However, she didn't say anything out of respect. Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard experienced enough and willing to stand at the head of this war. He had earned the right to be at least a little bit cynical. After all, no war has ever been won by empathy.

"Be that as it may, we should watch the young Slytherins carefully," she muttered. "Maybe Regulus wasn't the only rebellious one. Maybe there's more of them."

"We need someone on the inside," replied Albus, worry heavy in his tone. "We're drowning. The Ministry's barely keeping up with the attacks, they can't do anything to prevent them from happening. We need a spy."

"We've been saying this for years now." Minerva stretched and then curled in her armchair again. "Do you have someone new in mind?"

The Headmaster nodded slowly.

"Maybe. I'll approach him personally and we'll see how it goes."

"Be careful," she warned, suddenly wary. "Even you can't defend yourself against Avada, or certain kinds of poison slipped into the tea his house elf serves you."

"You don't even know who I was talking about, my dear."

Minerva scoffed, irritated. She wasn't sure what angered her more, the identity of said person or the way Dumbledore was speaking to her. Sometimes she really wanted nothing more than to pull him down from that high horse of his.

"I'm not stupid, Albus. You've been thinking about getting Aldric Lestrange on our side for years. No, don't insult my intelligence, I know you, you old fool. And I can tell you right now, it's a bad idea. He will never turn against Tom, and you have nothing to offer in return. Protection? Please, he's good at protecting himself. What can you throw at him that will give him an incentive to betray an old friend? Someone he's been loyal to for better part of four decades?"

"I'm...I..."

"You don't know."

"I don't."

She sighed with exasperation.

"Albus, to the rest of the world you may seem to be a fully competent, logical leader of the Light but let me tell you, from time to time you're a complete and utter fool."

"We're desperate, Minerva. We might have won the battle but the war is so far from over. And good wizards and witches are dying out there, you know that as well as I do."

Suddenly she stood up, walked a few steps and kneeled before him, taking his hands between her own.

"And it pains me as much as it pains you. But you can't go to Aldric Lestrange, the man so close to it all he's almost in the centre, and appeal to his good heart. Even if he has one, it's limited to Anton Dolohov, everyone knows that. If you want to convince him, you need to do it in a logical way. Have him count his losses and gains. Make the Dark Lord's side look like it's going to lead to a disaster, personally or business-wise. Do you think there's a way to do it?"

Albus looked at her, searching for something in her expression. After a moment, he shrugged.

"Are you saying that the only way we're better than they are is that we're morally and ethically better?"

"Albus, we were talking about using kids as spies a moment ago," her smile had a pang of sadness to it. "I don't think we're winning the moral contest either. The only thing we differ from the Dark Lord is that we don't kill the innocents and don't want to rule Britain. Well, unless you have some plans. Then just tell me."

Dumbledore squeezed her fingers and laughed quietly, with a despair known only to those who realise they have already lost.


	15. Chapter 15

Albus watched in silence the house elf pour aromatic, fragrant tea into two cups. As the creature completed its task, it bowed and disappeared from the parlor of the Lestrange Hall, leaving the two wizards alone.

"I have to admit, Headmaster," started Aldric carefully, looking for the right words, "that your request to see me was more than surprising. I don't believe we've had the opportunity to meet outside of your Hogwarts responsibilities."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, his hands confidently placed on the armrests of the armchair. He's not afraid of getting attacked, realized Aldric, grudgingly impressed. If Anton was there, hidden by some masking spells of his own design, he could have wandlessly cast a whole barrage of curses before the Hogwarts' Headmaster would even be able to reach for his wand. But that damned arrogant man wasn't even impressed by the possibility, instead looking absolutely comfortable and at peace.

"Well, I think we can leave the masquerading alone, master Lestrange, and talk openly."

"Oh?" Aldric raised his eyebrows theatrically. "Talk openly about what, exactly?"

"Regulus Black, for example."

An almost imperceptible tremor ran through Lestrange's face. Dumbledore just had to admire the man's control over his own expression.

"Poor boy, I hope they'll find him safe and sound," lied Aldric through his teeth. Dumbledore smiled, almost sweetly.

"Let's not pretend, shall we? You see, I've had a long chat with Orion Black about his son's death. I know about the talk the two of you had some time ago and I know that you are well aware of the young Black's fate. Though I have to admit, I wasn't overly amused by the version of events you have presented to the grieving father."

"Everything I've told Orion was as plausible version of events as any. But sure, let's play this little game. Let's pretend I'm a servant of a powerful man interested in making this country's wizarding community great again. And let us pretend that you're the leader of his political opposition. Our...pretending has nothing to do with the fact that a young wizard is missing, presumed dead. Neither my side, nor yours admit to knowing anything about his fate. Now, who has more to lose here? We've - and we're still pretending here - been already branded criminals and barbarians, even though we don't want anything else than to see this community flourish again. On the other hand, your pure and brave defenders of the public can't take the hit of being accused of murdering a child now, can they?"

"Are you saying that I don't have a full control over my pretended defenders of the public?"

Aldric gave him a bright, wide smile and reached for his teacup.

"I know that you don't. Because, you see, dear Headmaster, the criminals and barbarians wouldn't gain anything on hiding their deeds. They have a public image to maintain. Killing an unruly follower of their leader isn't something to be ashamed of. It's something that should be made loud to serve as a warning of what happens to those who rebel. And I'm telling you, as a pretended servant to the pretended Dark Lord, that no such warning has been issued. Which leaves only two possibilities: one is some tragic accident, a complete coincidence. The boy liked walking around the Muggle London, he was struck by one of those...how are they called? Cars? Those metal contraptions Muggles use to travel. Or maybe he was hurt by some Muggle. Maybe his body is in a morgue somewhere, waiting for someone to find it. Tragic, but innocent accident. The other possibility... Well, the way I see it, Headmaster, maybe your people tried to apprehend him. Maybe he was defending himself. Maybe something went wrong, someone cast the wrong spell, and the kid ends dead in a bog somewhere, never to be found. It does sound possible, don't you think?"

"Just as possible as a wrongly cast Avada, a torture going too far, one outburst of Tom's temper... He still has those, doesn't he? Just like he had in school. But now he's more dangerous than he used to be so maybe an accident happened, just like you said. Another plausible scenario to your collection, master Lestrange."

"What do you want, Dumbledore?"

Lestrange's face went a little bit pale, his iron-clad control was slipping a little. Headmaster smiled pleasantly, happy with how the conversation was going.

"A working relationship, of course. A civilized conversation from time to time, an information flow."

"You want me to spy for you," Aldric looked at the Headmaster like the man's head was a curiosity. "Really? That was your grand plan, headmaster Dumbledore? Annoy me with talking about the death of that Black kid, then try and talk me into risking my life and betraying the cause I've spent decades believing in?"

"Master Lestrange, you're a reasonable man. You know that one of those days Tom's little temper tantrum will be directed at you or your loved ones. Can't be easy, having your whole family on the line, can it? I'm sure you already thought about it. You'll need protection. You'll need help getting out of the country. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but eventually."

Aldric rose from his seat, his face an unmoving mask.

"This conversation is over, headmaster Dumbledore. I ask you to leave my house before I have to use less pleasant means."

Albus gathered his robes and also stood up, looking the other wizard straight in the eyes. Lestrange didn't even blink.

"My proposal still stands. Think about it. I'll be awaiting your owl, whenever you might decide to take me up on it or not."

With a short bow, Dumbledore left the room and Aldric could hear the house elf guide him towards the exit. He stood there, motionless, until he heard the faint sound of the main door closing. Only then did he fall down onto the armchair again, rubbing his temples and trying to ward off the oncoming migraine he was already feeling approaching. 

"Shit," he swore softly, took a deep, fortifying breath and slowly stood up to head to his rooms, grab charcoal-black robes and leave for Tintagel. The Dark Lord had to hear about this conversation from him personally, before one of the spies that were without a doubt watching Dumbledore's every move, could inform him of the Headmaster's visit to Lestrange Hall.

 

"And he just flat-out said that you should spy for him. For the Order. Is he stupid or insane?"

Aldric sighed heavily while continuing to absentmindedly trace patterns with his fingers on Anton's hot, sweaty skin. They were basking in the afternoon sun, sated and lazy, but Lestrange's mind was darkened with the uninvited thoughts and fears.

"I kicked him out," he muttered. "Pretty much immediately went to Tintagel. But imagine my surprise when I met Bellatrix leaving Tom's rooms."

"You think she's spying on you?"

Lestrange made a soft, humming voice.

"The Dark Lord pretty much admitted that she had already informed him about Dumbledore's visit. She must have someone watching the house, or maybe one of my house elves isn't as loyal as we thought them to be. I've already spoken to Genevieve about it, she's not happy with the whole thing either so she'll check if the source of the leak was the help."

Dolohov pushed himself up and propped his weight on his elbows.

"Aldr? Did he believe you when you told him about refusing Dumbledore?"

Aldric was silent for a very long while - long enough for Anton to start to be seriously worried. He made a mental note to check up on the forger and move the emergency escape plan along. Dark clouds were gathering around them.

"I'm not sure," Lestrange said finally. "He looked convinced but who can tell these days? One thing I know for sure: he was very much concerned about the fact that Orion Black started talking to Dumbledore. I knew that this whole thing would come to bit us in the ass but I was hoping it would be more time before we had to deal with it."

"Too many problems, too little time?"

"Mmm, something like that. I mean, we've barely managed to cover the fiasco with the giants, recent polls say that most of the community believes that the Ministry lied about the number of attackers, that Aurors are trying to make themselves look better. So the propaganda approach worked. And now we have a head of one of the most powerful, well-connected families in the wizarding Europe believing we've killed his son. Orion Black can ruin us. Business-wise, we rely on his support."

"And politics? How many strings he can pull?"

Lestrange muttered a quiet curse when Dolohov's lips started tracing an old scar down Aldric's side.

"He has a seat in the Wizengamot, he plays chess with Minchum, owns a significant part of the Prophet, his wife chairs half a dozen charities, and he has a direct influence over the Board of Directors at Hogwarts."

"Shit."

"That would sum it up, yeah."

"Well, then at least let me distract you for a little while," Anton's words were muttered directly into Aldric's skin. "And once you're relaxed, we can start plotting some sort of strategy to take the control back from the Dark Lord and keep our lives in the process."

Aldric couldn't help but laugh - and then Anton disappeared under the sheets again and Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort and all the survival strategies in the world couldn't be farther from his mind.

*

Sometimes it just seems that the world is waiting for something. Maybe for a storm that has been brewing on the horizon for some time now. For a snowfall, or a cleansing rain. For a disaster. This time it seemed to Aldric that the world was waiting for the other shoe to drop and he couldn't help it, he was waiting along with it, having mixed feelings of dread and curiosity. Aldric Lestrange, unlike many other Death Eaters, had the troubling knowledge that some things were just beyond his reach and nothing he could do would change them. So the only thing left for him to do was to patiently wait and pray to whoever's listening.

The other shoe dropped a couple of days after his conversation with Albus Dumbledore.

Aldric had a pretty good day, actually. True, he had to go for an early morning meeting with one of his goblin bankers and discussed the merits of steel trade with longbeard Scottish dwarves for two hours. But after that he went for a little walk through the Diagon Alley - the street was coming back to life, with new shops and other businesses opening all around. He bought some splendid scones, ate one with a cup of spectacularly good black coffee and pocketed the rest to share with Genevieve. His relationship with his wife was almost cordial these days. She was shaping to be a good friend, which came to him as a surprise. 

He made a quick stop at the Flourish and Blotts, bought the newest crime novel of that Finnish author he liked, an anthology of war poetry for Genevieve (who enjoyed these things while Aldric couldn't see the point of poetry) and the latest edition of Wizarding Chessplayer. The day was beautiful - sunny and warm. Yes, Aldric had a pretty good day.

And then he apparated back in the Lestrange Hall and met his wife in the entrance. Genevieve was clutching the morning copy of the Prophet and was looking ashen. Immediately the pleasant feeling disappeared from Aldric's stomach, instead giving way to a heavy and cold weight of bad feeling.

"What happened?" he asked before she had an opportunity to open her mouth. Without a word she handed him the paper, one of her long fingers pointing at an impressive obituary on page two.

"Fuck," hissed Aldric. "This fucking shit will never cease, won't it?"

Genevieve shook her head.

"I was worried before, Aldric, but this... Now I'm scared. The paper says he died of natural causes, do you believe it?"

The wizard finally took his outer robes off, handed them off to a waiting house elf and looked at the Prophet again.

"Of course not, I'd have to be an idiot to buy it. Salazar's balls, this is bad. This is Gryffindor-levels of stupidity, honestly. Fuck!"

He moved to the nearby parlor and sat on the couch, fingers moving nervously along the spines of the new books he brought with him. Sweet scent of floral perfume surrounded him like a mist when Genevieve sat next to him, side to side. It calmed him a little.

"You're really bothered by this," she observed. Her husband nodded slowly.

"As much as I'd love to go and yell at the Dark Lord for killing Orion Black - because let's not kid ourselves, that's what happened - all I can do is to sit here and think about some sort of spin on the whole thing."

Genevieve considered him for a moment.

"You feel guilty." It wasn't a question. "You told the Dark Lord of Orion's dealing with the Order and now he's dead so you're feeling guilty. Don't. If it was Black or us, and I know you believe it was, it's the best outcome. Stop torturing yourself, there's no point."

"I know."

She nodded with satisfaction and stood up to pour them both a glass of Firewhiskey. She handed the drink to Aldric.

"To Orion Black, the bravest of victims."

“And to Regulus Black, wherever he may be.”

The Lestranges saluted with their glasses and sat, drinking, in silence.

*

Sirius' place was a mess. Empty bottles and dirty robes cluttered the hardwood floors, piles of unwashed dishes blocked the kitchen sink from being used, and motorcycle parts were taking all available surfaces, leaving oil stains James was pretty sure were impossible to clean. His best friend was sitting on a sofa in the middle of the living room. Through open door Potter could see that the bedroom was in the similar state as the rest of the small apartment on Knockturn Alley Sirius has been renting for the last couple of months.

The sofa his friend was sitting on was currently levitating under the ceiling, with Sirius' head brushing it dangerously on every uptick of the furniture piece. James looked up

"Is that a personal statement or were you just bored?"

"Haven't you heard?" answered Sirius' cracking voice. "My father's dead. And my brother's dead. So piss off, I'll do whatever I want."

"And the 'whatever you want' includes hanging in the air?"

"Fuck off, Potter. Don't you have a wife to go home to?"

James shrugged and leaned on a wall he knew was at least semi-clean.

"I do. But, as you said, your father is dead, your bother is dead. My parents are dead too, you know. So I figured we should get smashed. When if not now, at least the reason is good."

Sirius peaked down at the bottle James was holding. Slowly, the sofa floated down and landed on stacks of unread newspapers and at least one garment that looked like women's underwear.

"Permission to come aboard?" James took a few steps towards the couch. Sirius waved his hand.

"Permission granted."

In silence Potter sat down with his feet underneath him so that they were facing each other and poured the ordinary Muggle vodka into two glasses transmutated from Prophet copies. 

Sirius saluted with his glass and knocked the liquid down. 

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"What?" spat Black. "My good Slytherin brother who wanted to be a fucking Death Eater and got what he deserved? Or about daddy dearest who was so frantic to learn what the hell happened to the only kid he wanted that he had gotten himself killed?"

"Well, I would have thought you'd be happier. You did hate their guts, remember?"

Sirius angrily took the bottle from his best friend's hands and gulped the alcohol straight out of it, foregoing the glasses. James watched him carefully. 

"I did. I do. But I wouldn't wish for them to be killed like fucking dogs by the Dark Lord for reasons fucking unknown."

"I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knows the reason," muttered Potter. That got Black's attention.

"What do you mean?"

"I might have overheard something our favorite teacher said to Moody after the last meeting of the Order. You know, the one you missed because you were sulking."

"I don't sulk."

"Fine, you were grieving."

"Fuck off. I was sulking. So? What did you accidentally overhear?"

"So turns out sweet Minerva knew that Dumbledore was going to talk to Aldric Lestrange after having a chat with your father dearest."

Sirius stared at him for a little time, his foggy brain trying to piece the puzzles together. Slowly, he nodded.

"So old Albus goes to Orion, Orion bitches about the Dark Lord, Dumbledore goes to that fucker Lestrange..."

"And Lestrange goes to the Dark Lord. Bam, Orion ends up dead. Natural causes, my ass."

Black snorted.

"To be fair, Avada causes death quite naturally."

"Cynic."

"No, dear James, I'm not a cynic, I'm a realist. The goblet is not half empty, it's not half full. I just know that someone will cast an Avada at the fucker holding the goblet."

Potter sighed at poured himself another drink.

"Mate? You think we'll survive this war?"

Sirius burst out laughing - but there was no mirth in his voice, only bitterness.

"Not if the Dark Lord and his minions have anything to say about this. Or, apparently, Dumbledore. You really believe he wouldn't sacrifice us in a heartbeat if it meant winning the war?" Seeing the expression on James' face, he nodded. "Yeah. I thought so."

Without another word, Potter knocked down another gulp.


	16. Interlude 5

**G. Grindelwald to A. B. W. Dumbledore, 5th of** **November 1978**

_ My dearest, _

_ apparently your opponent is not the sharpest wand in the wandshop, though this idiotic shot at invasion had me truly worried for you. Since your name was not on the list of casualties and no headlines about your death appeared on the newspaper covers, I assume you are well. If not... Well, then I guess whoever is sorting your correspondence these days will get quite a shock seeing a letter from Nurmengard. I can only hope no trouble for you will come out of that.  _

_ This little Voldemort of yours is really a complete moron, don't you think? _

_ If I had a force like that back in my day - an army of giants! All dead, they tell me. What a waste! - I would have used portkeys and sent them into the Muggle London city centre, getting all the Aurors out of the Ministry and taking over without any resistance. Simple as that, all in day's work. I simply cannot believe the chance this foolish boy had and wasted, Albus. Though I am inclined to say, because of my love for you, that we should thank Hekate for his idiots of advisors. I would have hated seeing those headlines, you know. _

_ I think it would break my heart. _

_ As usual, with love and devotion, and with unusual hope that you are well, _

_ G. _

**A. B. W. Dumbledore to G. Grindelwald, 6th of November 1978**

_ Gellert, _

_ thank you for your concern. I'm fine, exhausted but alive and with all my wits about me.  _

_ Also, Lord Voldemort is a small-minded genius who happens to be also a complete idiot. Thank Merlin for that. _

_ A. _

Grindelwald read the short note and threw his head back, laughing with delight for the first time in years.


	17. Chapter 17

“For three people?”

“Two wizards and a witch, yes.”

“Hard thing, messir, hard thing to accomplish in these conditions, you see, this climate... Big punishments for forging, messir. Especially for wizards of your… affiliations.”

The short, fair-haired wizard huffed impatiently and looked down at the half-goblin forger.

“How much?”

“Messir…”

“How much do you want for this?”

“Five hundred galleons, messir.”

“Five hun… Listen, for this sum I could… You know what, nevermind. I’m sure someone else will do it for four hundred.”

As the man was turning to storm out of the little art gallery in the Knockturn Alley, the forger cleared his throat, made a small sound and squeaked:

“Fine! But it’s four fifty if you want it to be of good quality, messir.”

Appeased, the wizard nodded, not turning towards the forger.

“When?”

“It’ll be ready within the next ten days, sir. You can sent an elf for it, if you’d like, messir.”

Without another word, the man in black robes left the small gallery and joined crowds of wizards and witches on the Knockturn Alley in the early dusk of the evening. As he was passing through the arch to the Diagon Alley, his face blurred for a blink of an eye. If the light was any brighter, a careful observer would notice the change of his hair color and sharpening of his features. The wizard seemed to be taller now, too.

But there were no careful observers around and the street was crowded.

Antonin Dolohov smiled to a witch selling magical amulets from a small stand in the Alley and slowly walked towards the apparition point, very satisfied with himself.

*

"I thought I was going to be useful."

Lucius looked up from the newspaper he was reading and saw Severus sitting down, unannounced, on one of the armchairs in Malfoy's study. Master of the house blinked, wondering for a second what the hell was his friend doing in the Manor. Then it came to him - Snape was delivering potions for heavily pregnant Narcissa. The older wizard nodded his greetings, finished reading the interview with a goblin economy specialist giving her opinion on non-human commerce act project that was currently circulating in the Ministry, and then he put the Prophet aside.

"What do you mean, Severus?"

Snape made a face, dismayed. He gestured at himself, clad in charcoal black robes, with the silver mask dangling from his belt.

"I just came from Tintagel. Summoned by the Dark Lord himself, imagine that. I thought this would be my chance, this is the moment I become useful to the cause."

"But...?"

"He wants me following Dumbledore. Not doing anything useful, since the Headmaster never forgets his privacy spells. Just walk around, see who he's meeting with, nothing more, really. How is that useful, Lucius?"

Malfoy sighed, really having better things to occupy his time with than soothing his friend's wounded ego.

"Severus, I won't pretend that I'm smarter than the Dark Lord himself. I don't know what he wants to achieve but what I do know for sure is that he recognizes your value to the cause, my friend. If he's sending you then he knows you're the right man for it. Maybe it's because you're so proficient with changing your appearance? With potions and spells alike?"

The younger of the two men sighed and the fight visibly has left him - his shoulders sagged, he looked rather tired. 

"I know, I know. I should trust him more. But it's just impossibly frustrating, knowing I could do all these wonderful, powerful things but I'm delegated to such a menial task."

Lucius heroically stopped himself from rolling his eyes and launching a tirade about how Lord Voldemort is the boss of this mess, not he. He forced a smile on his face and tried to look sympathetic.

"Look, I understand your frustrations, after all I have my own. But believe in the Dark Lord, not question him for your own safety and just follow Dumbledore. If you excel at easy tasks, he'll reward you with more challenging ones."

Severus stifled a groan.

*

Minerva smiled when Moody stumbled out of her private floo, coughing and cursing his ill-fitted prosthesis.

"You look tired," she remarked, pouring him a cup of strong, hot coffee without sugar, just the way he liked it. Transfiguration teacher didn't comment on the soot he was covering her armchair with when he sat down, she simply handed him the mug and wordlessly cast a cleaning spell. On him and her poor, abused furniture.

"I am," grumbled Alastor. "It's hard not to, these days. But, you didn't call me here to chat about the Ministry's inability to organize itself, right?"

Minerva laughed and the wizard couldn't help but notice how strained it sounded, how her facial features seemed tighter than usual. Even her slowly graying bun looked perkier than before.

"What happened, Minnie?" he asked in a soft, calm voice she didn't hear often. Not from him. Especially not in the privacy of her rooms. She took a deep breath.

"He says he managed to install a spy inside Tom's organization. A low level Death Eater."

Moody whistled through his teeth, took a sip of his coffee and put the cup aside.

"That's not all, is it."

"He wants to relay all the information he was given by this spy on the next full meeting of the Order. I need you to help me persuade him that it's a bad idea."

"It's a stupid fucking idea."

"I know."

"So he resents the idea that Lord Voldemort..."

"...we call him He Who Must Not Be Named now."

"What?"

"There's a suspicion that there's a Taboo on his name, they may be using it to pinpoint who is in the Order and attack. He Who Must Not Be Named. You'll have that memo on your desk in the morning, I presume."

"Merlin's hairy balls."

"Indeed."

"So he resents the idea that He Who Must Not Me Named... you just couldn't come up with something that rolls off the tongue easier, could you?... has a spy in the Order?"

"He told me to trust our people because without trust we're no better than Tom's minions. Albus refuses to even acknowledge the possibility that not all Order members are loyal."

"So he wants to pretty much openly admit that we have someone on the inside. Yeah, because that can't end badly."

Minerva nodded, looking solemn and tired. Merlin, we both look so old, thought Moody. Like this is sucking the life out of us.

"What do you need me to do, Minnie?"

"We won't talk him out of using this knowledge but let's at least try and persuade him to do it on a meeting of the inner circle, not the full one. If Tom has a spy there, we're screwed either way so it would hurt less, I suppose."

Moody finished his coffee and stood up.

"I'll go to him now, Minnie. And you... you get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Her smile was sad.

"I don't remember a short one, Alastor. I honestly don't."

What could he do but nod?

 

"My Lord..."

Tom entered the Tintagel room he usually used for receiving guests and looked at the boy kneeling on the floor, now trembling slightly. Voldemort smiled with satisfaction. He knew it wasn't the cold in the room that made Peter shake. It was fear, pure, primal fear Tom has always wanted to incite in his followers but couldn't, shackled by Lestrange and Mulciber's plans. Good plans, he knew. But this here was what he craved in his dark dreams - complete loyalty caused by complete fear. 

"Peter. What do you have to report that you couldn't tell Rabastan?"

"T-the Order held a meeting today, my Lord. First a f-full one, then a smaller one. The inner circle, my Lord. I was invited, of course."

"And?"

Peter looked up at the dark wizard standing only a couple of feet away.

"Dumbledore had some information he shouldn't. Our movements, our strategy. Things told all the Death Eaters, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort drew a deep, sharp breath and dove into Peter Pettigrew's mind, reviewing the memories from the said meeting. He ignored the sleazy feelings the boy had for his best friend's wife, who was always kind to him and now was heavily pregnant, and focused on everything Dumbledore had told his little group of miscreants. Meanwhile, Peter was still talking. The Dark Lord paid him no mind.

"Very well," he finally said, cutting Peter's stammering mid-word. "You did a good job, Peter, you made me proud. Now go and get me Bella Lestrange, she should be around."

Tom didn't even look in the general direction of the young wizard who, still on his knees, practically crawled out of the room. Once the doors were shut, Voldemort sat on the comfortable little sofa, deep in thought.

"My Lord?"

Tom opened his eyes. Bellatrix was standing in the doorway, head bent, awaiting orders.

"Come, Bella. Sit," he gestured towards the free armchairs. Without reaching for his wand he made the fireplace roar again and soon the room wasn't as cold as before. In the long years of managing his followers, Tom found out that the more uncomfortable they were, the sooner he got what he wanted. Fortunately, there was no need for tricks with Bellatrix. He could only hope for more Death Eaters like her.

As ordered, the witch had sat down, still not looking at him. He tsked.

"Look up, Bella. That's better, my girl. Much better. We have a problem."

"My Lord?"

"My little rat tells me the old fool knows too much. Someone has been telling him our secrets."

Bellatrix moved in her seat, hand twitching towards her wand.

"Sir... I told you months ago about my father in law's activities. His meeting with Dumbledore. Maybe he finally broke, my Lord?"

Tom considered this for a while but soon shook his head.

"No, Aldric may be losing his faith but he would never do such a foolish thing. And the Order knows only basics. Knowledge the low level followers are entrusted with. If your father in law was involved, we would never see them coming, Bella. He's a smart man, don't underestimate him."

"Never, my Lord."

"Good. Now, I want you to find me the source of the leak. Split them into groups, tell him different versions of some insignificant actions - but remember, important enought it would interest the Order."

The smile on her beautiful face was enough to make even the Dark Lord a bit unsettled.

"There's an orphanage for Muggleborn children, my Lord. We could..."

"Do it. And, Bella? I trust you with this. Only you."

The dark-haired witch slid out of her seat, kneeled before him and pressed a heated kiss to his wand hand.

 

Deep in the Forbidden Forest an old centaur looked up to the stars and sighed heavily.

"What do you see?" asked a younger one, the leader of his tribe. The sky was beautiful that night, stars shining brightly, no clouds in sight. And yet the old wise centaur looked as if he couldn't see the beauty around him.

"Something's coming," he said finally. "A change in the tide, Morpheus."

 

*

 

The party was in full swing. Well, maybe not a party - after all, parties the Malfoy family was throwing were usually a gala-level events for couple of hundreds closest friends, allies and political frenemies. This was more of a get-together organized by Lucius Malfoy after the announcement was made that his wife, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, gave birth to a son and heir to the Malfoy name. Draco was born on a beautiful, warm night in June and soon the young parents were showered with congratulatory cards and well-thought gifts. Which is why, of course, all well-wishers received an invitation to Malfoy Manor so that the master of the house could officially thank them in person.

And who in their right mind would turn down an invitation to a Malfoy party?

But one person in the crowd didn't look like they were enjoying the festivities. Shocking, especially since it was the godfather of the young Malfoy heir. Severus Snape made his way through the partygoers, shook a few hands, mumbled a few greetings but didn't stop to chat with anyone. 

"Lucius. Can I talk to you for a second? Privately."

The blond-haired wizard quickly excused himself from the couple he was talking to and, looking slightly relieved, followed Severus to one of the study rooms. Snape cast several privacy spells and finally looked at the master of the house, who was pouring two glasses of Firewhiskey.

"Thank Salazar, Sevvy, I thought I'd die of boredom. How did you know I needed a rescue? Was it something in my face?"

Snape snorted and sat down, taking the offered glass.

"No, I actually needed to talk to you about something. But I'm glad you consider me a more attractive conversation partner than the people who came to money by betraying their business partners and starting a price conspiracy on wizarding child care products."

"Oh? Is that who they were?"

"You keep a truly splendid company."

Malfoy laughed quietly and took a sip, relishing the burn of the alcohol in the back of his throat. Severus waited patiently, his face tight with worry.

"Tell me, Sev."

"I'm coming back from Tintagel," the younger of the wizards shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "The Dark Lord himself took my report tonight. And good thing he did."

"Something got you spooked, I can see that. What is it, old friend?"

"A prophecy. I overheard it while following Dumbledore. I don't think the old fool knew it would happen, he was interviewing a potential Divination teacher in some seedy pub in Hogsmeade. I could hear them clearly but the damned barman made me... Kicked me out, but I still heard what I needed."

Lucius' eyebrows rose a little bit. The wizard gestured for Severus to continue.

"Won't quote it but it was a prophecy about the Dark Lord's fall."

Without a word, lord Malfoy reached for the carafe and replenished their drinks.

"What did it say?"

Severus sighed.

"That the child who would have the power to vanquish him will be born at the end of July to parents who had defied the Dark Lord three times. And that the boy will have power even the Dark Lord doesn't know."

"Fuck."

"In a nutshell."

"So who in the Order has a kid on the way, Sev?"

Snape's sour expression told Malfoy more than he needed even before his friend could answer.

"The Longbottoms would be my pick," he muttered, not looking Lucius in the eyes. "Pureblooded, both of them work in the Aurors Office. Known Order members, whole family is tight with Dumbledore."

"Severus..."

Snape's mouth tightened.

"Sev, I know you hold your little childhood crush dear to your heart but the Potters have a child on the way too."

"Their child will be a half-blood," scoffed Severus. "I don't think the Dark Lord would be scared of a little half-blood over a pureblood heir of long Auror traditions."

Lucius sighed with sympathy. He understood the sentiment, he really did. He could even understand why Severus was so fixed on the Potter woman - she was a beautiful, brilliant witch who up to a point treated Snape fairly, even when his Slytherin friends didn't. But now it was clouding his judgment and this was simply not safe in the world they were living in.

"Sev, you're not pureblood either and you're a better wizard than half of the Inner Circle. You know it, I know it. And honestly, do you really believe that the Dark Lord himself is pureblood?"

Snape blinked owlishly.

"Ah, so you've never considered it, old friend. Let me tell you - in no registry is there a pureblood family under the name of Riddle. And my father told me long ago that our Lord was a little orphan found by Dumbledore in some sort of Muggle orphanage. Can't prove it now, of course, but honestly, Severus. Do not trust the blood. This way of thinking will quickly betray you."

Snape was silent for a long moment, listening - but not exactly hearing - to the sounds of the party at the other side of the door.

"Merlin, please, let it be a girl..." he whispered eventually. "Just let it be born a girl..."

"Sev?"

"Yeah?"

"Just don't do anything stupid."

"I won't warn them, Lucius, if that's what you mean," he sighed. "Until we know for sure, there's nothing I could tell them anyway. Not that I will."

"I sure hope so," Malfoy took a long look at his friend. Eventually, he smiled. "I sincerely hope that my son will get to grow up in the world changed by our cause, Severus. In the times of peace and prosperity given to the wizards of Great Britain by the Dark Lord."

Severus, still deep in thought, simply drank to that.

*

_ Aldric, _

_ the news had reached me that the queen of fools is on a special assignment, tearing through the crowds of lower level of Tom's followers like a niffler on a hunt. Or maybe a hungry dragon? The imagery strangely fits. Anyway, my sources tell me that our dearest leader has reasons to believe we have a problem with information flow. Apparently they're flowing a bit further than we'd have liked. _

_ Count your house elves and double your wards. _

_ I have some paper-pushers watching my properties so I won't be making any house calls, I'm afraid. I've already let Tom know that I won't be available until they find another citizen to harass.  _

_ Please, tell Anton I'd appreciate it if he could send them some nice gifts in the mail. I'm pretty sure they get most of my incoming letters anyway. _

_ Enjoy your summer, as I intend to, _

_ R.M. _

"It took me two hours to even open this message," muttered Aldric, handing Dolohov the scroll. "Heavily warded and he still wrote it the way it can't be used against him, the old paranoic."

"I wonder what they have on him."

"Taxes? Unless he was careless and caught on blackmailing someone in the Ministry, I can't see any other option. Something financial and tied to his businesses."

Anton smiled slightly, hearing Lestrange's tone.

"You're not afraid you'll be next?"

"I'm smarter than he is," snorted Aldric. "I have a whole goblin legal practice to worry about it for me."

Dolohov shook his head, tenderness mixing on his face with amusement.

*

They were sitting in her rooms at Hogwarts again, facing each other. The windows were open wide, letting the pleasant wind of the summer evening in but neither of them paid it any mind. Minerva sighed quietly. The only thing changing was what they were drinking - from coffee to tea to iced tea to alcohol. The darker the news, the stronger the drink. She looked at the wine in her glass. Moody was drinking Firewhiskey.

"Caradoc Dearborn," she repeated his words from couple of minutes ago. "Do you think he's the spy Dumbledore was so happy about?"

The Auror massaged his scarred, heavy hand, thinking about the man in question.

"An Order member who drops from the face of the earth just as Albus speaks with more intensity about the need to have a spy? Especially one who didn't advertise as Dumbledore's supporter, on the contrary, we have reports that Caradoc frequented pubs favorited by the Dark Lord's recruiters. He has no family, a neighbor reported him missing. We started investigating and from the looks of it, I'd say Caradoc wanted to get recruited."

"Have you talked to Albus about it?"

"He's avoiding me," grumbled Alastor. Minerva winced slightly, Dumbledore actively ignoring someone was never a good sign, especially in crisis. 

"I'll try and influence him but I don't think it'll do much good," she admitted. "I swear, once this is over, I'm writing a book. War memoirs with all the ridiculous things we had to deal with."

"No one would believe you," laughed the auror. "Honestly, I wouldn't. People want to believe that Dumbledore is this grand wizard who is never wrong and who has to be followed because that's the right thing to do."

She smiled sadly.

"Sometimes I wonder how does it make us any different than the followers of You Know Who. They follow, we follow. They don't question their orders, we don't question them either."

Alastor reached out and took her hand, feeling it tremble slightly.

"We don't kill innocents, Minnie. We don't want to enslave the whole people because they're different than we are. Or maybe we are different than they are..."

"I don't like following a singular leader without any means to question his judgment. I love Albus, I trust him, but it just makes me uncomfortable. History has seen a lot of good men, great good wizards, fall to this kind of power."

"The war will end," he said soothingly. "The war will end and we will win. Sure, there will always be evil in this world, Minnie, we both know it. But this war will end and Dumbledore will be once again his usual loony self, strolling through the corridors and confusing students by giving them Muggle sweets. Just you wait."

Her fingers gripped his with force that surprised Alastor a bit. For a second he expected to feel claws digging into his skin. But she only held on tightly.

"I'm scared," she admitted. "It's been dragging for too long. They're killing us one by one. And now Caradoc... Alastor, if he was the spy..."

"If he was the spy, then not only did Dumbledore send a man to die," cut in Moody, "but we also lost the only source of information we had. It's back to neighborhood watches and apparition buddy system for the members of the Order. Yeah. I know."

"What if we don't see the end of it, Alastor?"

"Be careful. Be vigilant. Minnie, I won't tell you that we're not in grave danger because you're not a stupid woman, you know we are. But we've been in that danger for so long, it's nothing new. And we're still here so apparently we're doing something right."

Minerva laughed seemed to be a bit teary but soon she pressed her lips tighter and forced her fears back into that dark corner of her mind.

"I'm not sure I'd be able to do this without you."

The auror nodded.

"Likewise. And that, my dear Minnie, makes us different than our murdering counterparts - they're completely alone. We'll do it together."

"Do you think Caradoc is still alive?"

"I..." he stumbled and fell silent, looking for the right words. Then, he tried again. "I want to think that he had a quick, painless death for his troubles and that he's at peace now."

Minerva's eyes were sad when she looked straight at him. He didn't have to say anything else. The "but" was very clear.

None of them noticed they were still holding hands.


	18. Chapter 18

The Dark Lord was watching the crowd gathered on the Tintagel grounds. They couldn't see him, not yet. He enjoyed it, watching them freely without being watched back, studied in detail, his every move traced by hundreds of pairs of eyes. Of course, their undivided attention was flattering but sometimes simply exhausting.

And now his Death Eaters were confused.

It wasn't a scheduled meeting and it was very unusual for Lord Voldemort to call all of his followers from all three levels of the organization. So far the only ones getting unexpected summons were the happy wizards and witches wearing the Dark Mark that symbolized their belonging into the Inner Circle. And it wasn't time for Saturnalia, not in July. So, of course, they had no idea what to expect.

Tom liked the unexpected.

What the faceless, masked masses didn't know was that Bella Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback spent the last days in the deep dungeon of Tintagel, working on Dumbledore's spy. The Dark Lord didn't have time to spare for him, so he allowed his two most enthusiastic torturers to try and press the man for answers. And he sung, yes. He told them so many useless things, Tom was eventually forced to push his obligations a bit and visit the pathetic excuse for a wizard in his cell. He needed to see his mind. And he saw it.

Dumbledore did good, sending the most clueless man he had. There was literally nothing Voldemort and his followers could use. But after all it didn't really matter. Even if Caradoc Dearborn wasn't higher in the Order than Peter - and that was Tom's hope - and didn't know anything, he could still be useful. After all, even the masses needed entertainment.

"My Lord?"

"I'm not even going to ask how you recognized me, Bella," Voldemort removed the silver mask from his face that previously made him just another Death Eater in the crowd and smiled to the witch. "Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, my Lord, the werewolf is taking care of the prisoner as we speak. But, my Lord, if I may..."

"Speak, my girl."

"I still have concerns about Aldric Lestrange. Even if he's not a spy and he's not opposing you actively, there's still something off. I can feel it, my Lord. I beg you, don't trust him."

Tom smiled tenderly and reached out to pet Bella's long, soft hair. She shivered, eyes closing in pleasure.

"My dear little girl," he crooned. "I always listen to you, don't I? I believe your concerns. I think I may be sharing them a little. Aldric had always been an ambitious one and years of servitude might have left him thirsty for some power of his own. Maybe even enough to try and do something foolish."

Bella's eyes flew open and there was a dangerous flash in them.

"Should I..?"

"No, my pet, not yet. You see, Aldric Lestrange was one of my first friends in life. He would make a formidable enemy but so far there is no proof he's disloyal. Moving now could only make more harm than good. But you should continue watching him, my sweet. If he reveals himself in any way to be a traitor, we'll deal with him."

"Yes, my Lord," she whispered and bowed. Tom let his hand fall from her head and nodded with pleasure.

"Go, tell Greyback to drag the evening's entertainment out. It's time to start."

He watched her go and stopped himself from wiping the hand he was touching her with. It would look childish, he internally scolded himself, a grown wizard using his robes to clean the imaginary filth.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Bellatrix Lestrange. He did, oh, he so did. She was the perfect follower - loyal to a fault, always at hand when needed, humble and quiet. But there was an insanity in the deep wells of her eyes, a glimmer of sadistic need, a zealotry that unsettled Tom.

Voldemort shook out of his reverie, hearing the inhuman yells of the Order's spy. It was time to start the festivities.

*

_Lily,_

_I'm sorry to be probably the last person to write this but I was in France for a couple of weeks and the Prophet unfortunately didn't reach me here. So let me just congratulate you on the birth of your son. May his - and yours - days be filled with joy and satisfaction._

_I impatiently await the day your little boy reaches Hogwarts. As the new Potions master I can promise you to keep an eye on him for you and to make sure he thrives. Yes, I finally got the job - good old professor Slughorn has decided that enough is enough. I guess he'll be hosting the Slug Club in his comfortable home now; don't be surprised if you see an invitation in the mail._

_There's a lot of changes in Hogwarts this coming year. There's also a new Divination teacher - I still can't believe they decided to continue teaching this useless thing. At least it was moved in the curriculum, it's not obligatory anymore as it was in our day. Apparently now the children will be able to pick some of their subjects. A bad idea, if you ask me, but maybe thanks to that at least some of the minds will escape the incessant blabbering about crystal balls and omens hidden in teacups. I've met the new teacher. She's another one of these demented women who usually teach this subject._

_Bunch of bollocks. Who ever heard about a prophecy that was actually true?_

_Yours,_

_Severus_

He wasn't expecting a reply, really. She never wrote back so why should she start now? So he simply sent an owl and promptly forgot about it. And on the next day he almost choked on his buttered toast with honey when the owl came back with a response. With trambling hands, he unwrapped the scroll.

_Sev,_

_congratulations! I'm so happy you'll be teaching, it's wonderful news and you should be very proud of yourself. I expect you to write me about everything - your students, how you like teaching, and so on. As a new mother I'm drowning in diapers and baby things, I think I'd much enjoy reading about what's happening in good old Hogwarts._

_I've missed you._

_I'm glad that you're back under Dumbledore's wings - for a moment you had me worried that you'll disappear forever in some dark place. I'm really happy that's not the case and that you've left the past misgivings in the past._

_Write more often!_

_Love,_

_Lily (and little Harry. Sorry if there's a bit of spit on the letter. Honestly, babies are so messy!)_

*

Aldric watched the falling snow in the dusk, not really seeing anything. His hands were tightly balled in two fists, mouth moving without a sound, reciting something - maybe a spell, maybe a prayer. It was a terrible autumn, first snow in September, by October it was already dark, damp and cold outside. But none of this mattered, at least not now.

Aldric Lestrange was worried.

This was not how he imagined the years before the Dark Lord's triumph.

The constant fear gnawing at his insides most definitely wasn't a part of the deal. It was supposed to be a cultural revolution, a war fought with politics and smart strategies, not brute force and murders. Scaring the populace with Dark Mark in the sky? The disappearances and obituaries now had their own additional three pages in the daily edition of the Prophet. The weekend one had the most prominent names on the back page. The Dark Lord's name was said with fear - Aldric heard that the Ministry ordered their people to stop calling Lord Voldemort by his name and use some ridiculous 'He Who Must Not Be Named' or 'You Know Who's. Apparently they feared that the Death Eaters somehow managed to put a Taboo on the name. Good idea, he thought to himself. They should store it for later.

No, this war was nothing like Aldric had wanted it to be.

His fears had changed, too. He wondered briefly how would his Boggart look like now since his greatest fear was coming home and finding it empty. Not knowing what happened to Anton and even Genevieve. Just an empty, cold building that used to be his home but wasn't anymore.

He quickly banished the thought. It wasn't safe, wondering about things like this. Or healthy, for that matter.

With a heavy sigh, he reached for his glass only to find it empty. Right. Where did that Firewhiskey go?

Slowly, like an old man he, after all, was, Aldric stood up and left his rooms. Near what used to be the children's playroom, he almost walked into his wife. She caught him by his forearms, steadied him while watching his face carefully.

"What happened?" she asked softly in a sweet tone that almost made him want to cry.

"Did you ever resent me?" he asked. "For dragging you into the Dark Lord's business. Into that whole world."

She considered him for a second and gently pushed him towards the room, and then onto the comfortable albeit low sofa.

"Sometimes. But I don't think it was because it was the Dark Lord, Aldric. It was because I was desperately lonely and you were drowning in your grief at the time. Lord Voldemort... You know that I don't care about politics."

He tried to scoff but for some reason his muscles refused to cooperate.

"It's not just politics, there's a war happening right outside our door."

She watched him for a second and then sat on a pile of big, fluffy pillows their children once used for staged fights with their friends. No candles were lit in the room and in the soft, rosy glow from the snow-covered outside the untouched toys, balls and tiny brooms scattered around in a very well organized chaos looked sad and lonely, almost eerie.

"Is it? Outside, I mean. Are you sure it's not already inside, my dear?"

Aldric closed his eyes for a moment.

"You should go to your sister in France. Visit family in Switzerland, or something. Just...away from here. As far as you can without drawing attention to yourself, Genevieve."

With a soft gasp of surprise she grabbed one of his hands, squeezed tightly seeking comfort and strength. But he had none to offer. His fingers remained limp in her tight hold.

"Is it so bad, Aldric, that I have to escape? And what about you?"

He shook his head.

"In the next... I'd say, twelve months, the fate of this war will be decided. If the Order wins, it'll take me a lot to avoid the persecution. I haven't done anything but being Tom's friend from school makes me a target. Anton, the same. If the Dark Lord wins... I don't know, Genevieve. I don't know."

"You don't expect to survive this long," she said sharply, watching his face. "Don't lie to me. I know you, Aldric. I know about the fake paperwork, I know that you've changed your will to ensure that both me and Antonin want for nothing. You're preparing for...for what?"

Aldric squeezed her fingers and raised them towards his lips to press tender kisses on them.

"For the Dark Lord to kill me," he whispered with his lips over her wedding band. Genevieve took a deep, steadying breath.

"I can't persuade you to come with me, can I?"

Aldric smiled sadly and shook his head, letting her go. But instead of leaving immediately, she stayed where she was, still looking at him sadly.

"You'll be alone. I know that Anton comes and goes as he pleases but he's been more absent than present recently, hasn't he. And mister Mulciber... he's not coming for your morning teas anymore either. They're cutting you off. That's why you're fearing the worst."

"Bella has me watched. I think the Dark Lord suspects me of betraying him, be it with the Order or by my own ambitions. And I'm so tired, Genevieve. Of keeping the illusion going, of being the reliable and always available advisor, even when I don't get half  the information I need. But it doesn't matter, my love. You survive. I'll be fine."

"But no one should die alone," she whispered, her voice swollen with unshed tears. Aldric slipped from the sofa and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"It's better than seeing you die before me. Go, Genevieve. You've been a good wife. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you over the years. Go."

She left without another word but he heard the sob that escaped her after the door closed.  He sat there, not moving, for a long moment. Then, he slowly stood up and went back to his rooms, to watch the falling snow and wait for Anton to come home.

*

"We need to stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Minnie, I'm in your rooms more often than in my own apartment."

"You sleep on my sofa more often than you sleep on your own bed. Though judging by how you look, it's actually the only time you get some sleep."

"Harsh."

"No wonder you're so paranoid recently, are you sure it's not sleep deprivation? Or maybe one power-up potion too many, hmm?"

"Now you're just mean, Minnie."

"Don't call me Minnie."

"The alternative is calling you Kittie."

"Alastor?"

"Yes?"

"If you value having your balls attached to the rest of you, you'll never call me that."

"As you wish, Minnie."

She snorted. No, she actually laughed. There weren't many occasions to laugh these days.

His fingers twitched toward his wand when someone knocked. Minerva shook her head and went to open the door. Apparently the guest was of the expected kind.

"Albus, come in. Alastor's already here."

"Hello, Headmaster."

"Hello, hello. Though I wish we were meeting in the happier circumstances."

The Headmaster sat down and looked at the heavy stack of files cluttering Minerva's coffee table. Moody knew he shouldn't take files out of the Aurors Office but he didn't really give a damn about some dumb rules. No one cared about them these days anyway.

"Yes, well..." The auror looked at the files, too. They all had black ribbons. Murders. "We've lost a lot, Albus. Too many for this to be a coincidence."

"Fabian and Gideon Prewett are the latest ones, aren't they?" asked Minerva quietly, looking slightly pale. Moody knew she was their teacher. Head of their house. It had to hurt.

"Just for the record, we’re close to making an arrest in the Prewett case, I hope it’ll be at least a small consolation to Molly. As for your question, Minie… No, actually, I’m afraid they’re not." He saw her face fall, Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "Edgar Bones and family were found this morning."

The witched cursed softly and hid her face in her hands. Moody placed a steady, warm hand on her shoulder, offering support. 

"No one survived?" asked Dumbledore quietly, tears shining in the old wizard's eyes.

"The baby," offered Moody. "Daughter, she was in St. Mungo's, some small infection that required an overnight stay. Amelia Bones will take her in."

Minerva sniffed loudly, wiped her tears angrily and cursed again.

"They're coming after families now," she muttered furiously. "Just like Marlene and her whole family. Merlin, will this never stop?"

"Caradoc Dearborn is now presumed dead," continued Moody in his gravelly voice, eyes not leaving Dumbledore's pale face. "A man called Benjy Fenwick was found savagely murdered two nights ago, a drawing of a phoenix burned on his chest."

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

"I sent him," he admitted after a moment. In the corner of his eye Moody saw Minerva's fingers tighten on her wand. "We need a spy and I hoped he would..."

"Albus, do the world a favor and stop trying to install a spy," hissed Minerva before she could stop herself from being disrespectful. "Two lives have been lost because of you now. Enough is enough."

Moody took a deep breath and cut in before Dumbledore could answer.

"We've found Dorcas Meadows's body few hours ago."

"Morgana save us..." whispered Minerva. For a long moment the room was absolutely quiet.

"I urge you to revisit the idea that we have a spy within the Order, Albus," grumbled the auror. "They know who we are and where we live. They're picking us like cherries in a garden. Soon there will be no Order to speak of, just a lot of graves."

The Headmaster stood up rapidly, looking like he was ready to attack Alastor. But after a moment he sat down again, calmer. Or maybe sadder.

"I don't want to even consider this."

"Albus, we have to. Maybe they got to someone. Maybe someone's family is threatened, or maybe there's an Imperio at work. Let us discreetly poke at the issue," pleaded Minerva. "I can't stand another news about another friend being dead. Can you, Albus? For how long can we ignore this issue?"

"How many funerals before you consider this, Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster looked at their grim, tightly wounded faces and sighed, looking beaten.

"Fine. Discreetly, Minerva. But I'll hope with all my might that you don't find anything."

With that, he left the room - almost stormed out of it, leaving the two behind. Dumbledore knew that they were right, it was something they should at least consider - but faith in the loyalty of his people was everything he still had. Who would he be if he started doubting them now? What kind of a leader?

He was already keeping things from them. He thought back to Sybill Trelawney's prophecy - probably the first and the last one the woman had ever given. A prophecy that gave him hope and filled him with dread at the same time. If a child with power to destroy the Dark Lord was born recently, it would be years, no, decades before this war will be over. After more than a decade of this slow, crawling war all most of the members of the Order were hoping for was the end of it. How could he tell them that there was no end in sight?

It's funny, he thought without mirth as he walked through the empty, dark corridors in the middle of the night, heading towards his rooms. It's funny that the only person who knows the whole truth is the same man who had the whole world tremble years before. Man who loved him and hated him, who betrayed him and who stayed loyal to his own beliefs for longer than anyone else Dumbledore has ever known. He was admirable. And he was a safe person to tell those uncomfortable truths. After all, what Gellert Grindelwald could do with this knowledge from his cell in Nurmengard?

 


	19. Chapter 19

Lestrange Hall was eerily silent when Mulciber came through the front door. There was no house elf to greet him, not a sign his presence has been noticed. The wizard took out his wand from underneath his robes and cautiously moved forward, heading toward Aldric's rooms. 

The first signs of his friend's fury he saw on the second floor. There were books strewn everywhere, some of them destroyed by what looked to be ice. Mulciber smiled sadly, remembering that even during their Hogwarts years Aldric always reached for the cold magic when in anger or despair. 

He muttered an anti-slip spell as the frost covered the marble floors leading towards Aldric's private study. Its doors were wide open. From the doorway Mulciber could see the full scale of destruction - windows were gone, literally gone, not only glass but frames and even parts of the outer walls. Furniture was laying around in pieces, ripped to shreds by wild, uncontrollable magic. Snowflakes were floating in the air, suspended by Aldric's will - or maybe lack of thereof? - moving in slow motion. The wizard in question was kneeling on the floor, his fingers bleeding. Mulciber thought he probably didn't even notice it. His head was down so Robert couldn't see his face.

On the floor, amongst the pieces of wood and cloth, was the latest edition of the Prophet with great black headline claiming PREWETT’S MURDERER CAUGHT! ANTONIN DOLOHOV SENT TO AZKABAN!

"Aldric?"

The wizard looked up at him and Mulciber stopped himself from gasping. Lestrange's face was ashen and he looked as if he had aged at least a decade in a span of couple of minutes. There was something dangerous in his eyes and for a moment Mulciber was worried that he's not seeing his old friend anymore but some creature made of anger and grief. 

"They won't give him the Kiss," he said, still standing in the doorway, unwilling to come anywhere nearer Aldric. "That's all I could do for him, I'm sorry. But they won't give him the Kiss."

"So he'll slowly go insane, without his magic, surrounded by dementors?" growled Lestrange. His voice did not sound human. Not many things about Aldric seemed human that very second. The snowflakes started circling him, faster and faster. Mulciber took a couple of steps back and conjured a shield, just in case. And he was right to do so. In one, powerful blast the snow and magical energy exploded. Mulciber barely avoided getting hit by the flying door.

"Aldric!"

Lestrange took a deep breath and slowly stood up on unsteady feet. Mulciber, still wary, didn't move to help him. He drew a line at a risk of bodily harm, thank you very much.

"What did the Dark Lord say?" asked Aldric in a hoarse voice. Robert winced, really not wanting to be the one to relay Voldemort's stance on this particular subject. But Lestrange's eyes were sharp and he knew that his friend has to hear it, even if it causes additional damage.

"He said..." Mulciber cleaned his throat and cast a wordless shield again. "He said that if Dolohov was stupid enough to get caught, he deserves everything that's coming his way."

Lestrange stared at him for a long moment; the attack Mulciber was expecting never came. Instead, the grieving wizard blink and disapparated. After a flash of surprise at not noticing that the wards were down, Robert almost whined, knowing perfectly well where did he go and really not wanting to follow. But the Slytherin loyalty obligated him to at least make sure the blasted man wouldn't get himself killed.

Mulciber sighed and apparated to Tintagel.

 

"I trusted you. We trusted you."

Lestrange closed the door to the Dark Lord's personal study behind him and stopped there, observing Tom. Voldemort looked back at him, not even blinking.

"Yes."

"You will move heaven and earth, reach for every string we've got to get him out of there, Tom."

"No."

This seemed to take away Aldric's ability to form words. For a long, stretched out moment he moved only his lips with no sound coming out of them.

"I carried you to the top of this mountain, Tom. You wouldn't be here without me, without him! And you've sent him to kill those people as if he was a common criminal! What were you even thinking? Your other goons are too stupid to cast a successful Avada? Or maybe you're still too scared of Dumbledore to crawl out of your little hiding place, like a scared snake, huh?"

"That's enough, Aldric."

"Oh yes, that is enough, Tom. I stood by you, I financed your ideas and I allowed you to make your mistakes without ruining everything. And that's how I'm being repaid for my loyalty, oh mighty Lord Voldemort? By you hiding behind your lofty 'no' when for once I need something? You, the lord of nothing and no one? Fine. That's enough. So don't come crawling back to me once you realize you can't do anything by yourself!"

Once Lestrange had stormed out of the room, Mulciber slid in and sat on the armchair across from Tom.

"I told you he wouldn't take it well."

"I was hoping he would understand that we have no means with which to attack Azkaban," sighed Tom and ran his fingers through his hair."

"With all due respect, this is not the reasonable Aldric Lestrange you and I know," sighed Mulciber, shifting uneasily. "He's the man who has nothing left. He lost everything in the span of the last few months - his wife left, my people say she's in Switzerland with family. His sons don't talk to him, as far as I know, and now Antonin... He's dangerous now, Tom. I'm afraid we underestimated the extent to which this grief clouds his judgment."

Voldemort nodded, deep in thought.

"Have your people on him. Let's leave him to his devices for now but keep an eye on his activities. If he meets with Dumbledore, I want to know."

"Of course," muttered Mulciber, already running in his mind the list of the things to be done in order to control the potential damage. "As you wish."

*

He had no more time for grief.

Aldric started with rebuilding his wards - this time around the whole property. Privacy spells, anti-apparition charms, offensive and defensive curses and a particularly nasty set of trap designed with elegance typical for Anton's inventions. This almost broke Aldric, finding the scroll written in the painfully familiar, barely readable script. But he held his feelings at bay, at least for now. He had a job to do.

Once he cut every Floo connection in the manor, he restored the interior. Genevieve would kill him if she ever saw what he did to her beloved parlors and studies, the library and his own part of the house. Of course, not everything was salvageable but it was enough for Aldric.

Then he let go of most of his staff, save for maybe two house elves he needed to cook and clean for him. The wailing of the elves who were given clothes filled the half-empty building, echoing in its rooms long after the creatures were gone. Aldric didn't care. He had a job to do and couldn't afford to be distracted, not now.

After the Lestrange Hall turned into a formidable fortress, Aldric ordered the elves to keep the light on in the study and library the whole night, creating an illusion that someone was home. Then he used the ancient underground corridor his always practical ancestors have built and left the people watching the house none the wiser about his little trip to the outside world.

There was much to be done.

Aldric had contacts even Mulciber didn't know about, hell, they were hidden even from Anton. People who owed him favors or simply stayed on his payroll for years, waiting for the moment they would be useful. The Azkaban warden, for example, who now made sure that Dolohov was fed well and got him moved to a cell far from the usual posts of the dementors. A goblin banker who transferred much of the Lestrange funds to offshore accounts scattered around the wizarding and Muggle world alike. 

Or one of the wizards serving in Azkaban as a clerk, who allowed Aldric to exchange secret correspondence with Anton.

 

"He's getting careless," muttered Mulciber during his scheduled bi-weekly meeting with Lucius Malfoy sometime in the late spring.

"Who?"

"Aldric." The older of the wizards rubbed his temples. "He spent the last week in the Ministry, trying to bribe, blackmail or manipulate an assortment of officials. Salazar knows, it's a miracle he wasn't arrested yet."

"His name protects him," commented Lucius softly. "At least for now. He won't go around unpunished forever. At some point some loyal servant of the public reports it and Aldric will get his wish, he'll be with Dolohov again. Maybe they'll have adjoining cells."

Mulciber sighed quietly, watching the beautiful sunny day outside, in the Malfoy Manor gardens.

"I find it hard to condemn the man for doing everything in his power to get back the person he loves. I've watched them for decades, Lucius. It's like he's lost a limb or a wand. Part of him is gone and he won't let anyone stop him from trying to retrieve it."

"Still, we're wasting resources on watching him and this close to the end of the war we should..." Malfoy stopped himself. That most definitely got Mulciber's attention.

"You know something."

"I know that there is a prophecy," admitted the fair-haired wizard, wincing slightly, not even wanting to think what would the Dark Lord do if he knew Lucius was telling other wizards about it. "I know that he has his eyes on two young Order families with sons born in the last summer."

Mulciber let out a quiet chuckle filled with satisfaction as the pieces of the puzzle clicked and slotted themselves.

"So that's why Rabastan Lestrange was sent to the continent to look for Augusta Longbottom and her grandson."

"Yes."

"Who's the other nefarious newborn?"

"Are you sitting comfortably?"

"Just tell me."

"Charlus Potter's grandson."

Mulciber threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Later, Malfoy thought back to that conversation with a small dose of amusement. He himself, however, didn't have too many things to be happy about. He spent the summer wondering if he should tell Severus about the fact that his childhood love was the mother of a child who would cause the Dark Lord's fall. In all honesty, Lucius thought it would be best to keep the knowledge to himself, just be ready to pick up the pieces after Lily's death. But Narcissa, the incessant voice of reason in his ear, disagreed.

"You have to tell him," she insisted over Draco's cot. "If he discovers that you knew, he will never forgive you, Lucius. Or me, for that matter."

"But don't I have an obligation to protect him from himself? Cissy, he'll do something stupid. Maybe he'll die in the process."

She smiled sadly and put one soft hand on his cheek, caressing it tenderly.

"It's not your decision to make, husband. Severus is an adult. He can decide for himself. Trust in him, he's not a stupid wizard, you know this. Just... don't let him go to the Dark Lord immediately after you tell him. Make him take the time to cool down, help him consider all the options. And stop doubting him, Severus is loyal to a fault and he would never betray the Dark Lord for some witch he hasn't seen in years. He'll just need time to let go of that old sentiment, that's all."

And that's what Lucius did. Just before the start of the next school year, he asked Severus to come to the Manor and told him everything he knew. They drank that night, making a significant dent to Lucius' wine cellar. And then Severus left in the morning, looking calm and collected.

How the hell could Lucius suspect that Snape would go straight to Dumbledore?

*

Minerva stopped her leisure walk. It was late, she was patrolling the corridors (students loved breaking the curfew, fortunately they loved detentions a bit less) when she passed Dumbledore's office. There was a whole list of things she needed from the Headmaster - paperwork that awaited his signature, administrative decisions to be made, the annual check of the wards... And it was a pretty calm night, she could go to him now. Get it out of the way now. The roof needed a new layer of anti-leak spells and November was almost upon them. 

She sighed and shook her head. After all, she deserved to have one night a week without seeing Albus Dumbledore. Making a mental note to get on it tomorrow, she resumed her walk and headed for the dark nooks and corners of the study rooms around library.

Had she entered the Headmaster's office, she would have seen their youngest addition to the teaching staff, Severus Snape, on his knees, teary-eyed, begging Albus for the life of a woman he loved. She would see Dumbledore looking ages older, his head bent. She would hear Severus' heart-wrenching sobs, the only sound audible in the room.

If she entered a moment after that, she would have seen Albus nodding and Severus, shaky and unstable, get up from his knees. She would have witnessed Severus swearing his allegiance to the Order and taking upon himself a Life Debt, should Lily survive. And Minerva would probably have things to say about that. 

And some time after that, she would spend three hours listening to Severus list everything he knew about everyone in the organization. Every Death Eater in the Inner Circle, their place, their alliances specific skills the Dark Lord liked them for. The prophecy. The spy Voldemort had inside the Order.

Minerva would have probably yelled at Albus at this point, maybe not saying 'I told you so' and 'you should have listened to me' but coming awfully close to that. 

Severus, unfortunately, did not know who the spy was but strongly implied that it might have been someone from a family of known Voldemort sympathizers. He didn't point his finger at anyone but truth to be told, Dumbledore wondered more than once, just how loyal Sirius Black was.

At this point, Minerva would probably have slapped someone, yelled some more and stormed out of the office, heading to her own rooms and an emergency bottle of Firewhiskey. But she wasn't in the room where it happened. She was slowly walking away.

So the only person who might have the slightest indication that something was very wrong, except for the Headmaster and his Potions master of course, was the caretaker. Argus Filch was always an early bird. He actually quite liked the school when everyone was asleep and he was the only one awake. It allowed him to eat his breakfast and drink his first coffee of the day in the peace and quiet he would sorely miss during the busy day. He could also clean the most frequented places in the castle without any students trampling his freshly cleaned floors and polished surfaces.

So he was just dusting windowsills in the Astronomy Tower when he saw young man dressed in black, billowing robes cross the grounds and head to the Forbidden Forest. But Argus Filch didn't consider this strange. Severus Snape was known for disappearing in the forest and coming back with baskets filled with potion ingredients and rare plants for Pomona Sprout, the young Herbology teacher.

Maybe Argus Filch would think it was strange when the man stopped at the edge of the forest, touched his left forearm and disapparated. But since the caretaker had better things to do and more windowsills to dust, he didn't see it.

 

Noddy was a good house elf. And he quite liked serving in Tintagel - blood and other fluids was a bigger challenge to clean than spilled tea or coffee, and Noddy thrived. So he spent his days cleaning and dusting, leading guests to the Dark Lord's rooms and throwing the prisoners stacks of fresh hay to sleep on. Sure, it was cold and the thin black serviete wasn't very warming but Noddy paid it no mind. He was a good house elf and good house elves never complained.

So Noddy, shivering slightly, lead Robert Mulciber and Rabastan Lestrange to the Dark Lord's study in the middle of a cold evening at the end of October.

The elf left the wizards seated on two rather uncomfortable wodden chairs at the table standing in the middle of the room, steaming cups of tea standing in front of them. Though Noddy doubted they would drink it. More often than not, after meetings were over, the elf took away still full cups with cold tea or coffee.

With a soft sigh, Noddy went to check if mister Greyback was done with the interview room so that he could wash the blood off the floor before the stone stained for good.

"It's the Potter child," said Lord Voldemort instead of the greeting. The two Death Etaters exchanged looks.

"We still haven't found the Longbottom kid," said Mulciber slowly. "Or the Potters, for that matter."

Voldemort smiled with satisfaction.

"Actually, we do have the Potters. And since I believe that it's going to be their child... We can wait with the Longbottoms. After all, they can't keep hiding forever, we'll find them eventually. Once the immediate danger is taken care of and we have taken over the wizarding Britain, we can spare more resources to continue looking for Augusta Longbottom and her grandchild. Rabastan, you should take Bellatrix and your useless brother, find the auror pair. Get the answers we need out of them. But not tonight. Tonight, there are more urgent matters."

"My Lord, if I may ask..."

"Ask, Rabastan."

"How did you manage to find the Potters?"

Tom's smile was tight lipped but it was a smile nevertheless. Mulciber forced his face to stay expressionless. He knew that smile; he's seen it every time Voldemort realised he had something under his nose and couldn't see it before.

"They've made a mistake," the Dark Lord hissed with pleasure. "They're hiding under the Fidelius and as it happens, we've had the Keeper with us all along."

Mulciber gasped audibly. Rabastan's eyebrows rose, making him look more and more like his father when he was this age. Robert quickly dismissed the thought, not wanting to think about Aldric, not now.

"The spy," he said. "By Salazar, they made our spy their Keeper?"

"We've had them for months and didn't know about it because our spy wasn't informed that we've been looking for them," nodded Voldemort. Mulciber blinked, still processing the incredible coincidence. Rabastan chuckled, delighted.

"Should I prepare a team to take them down, my Lord?"

"No, Rabastan, I'll take care of this myself. The Keeper had already divulged the Secret, the child lives on borrowed time. Not long now. But... I have another thing to ask of you."

"Anything, my Lord."

The dark, bad feeling crept down Mulciber's back when he watched Tom's face go hard, his features set.

"I need you to tell me, where the Lestrange Hall apparition point is. I want to pay your father a friendly visit, mend fences, maybe. I would like him by my side for this last push."

From the cold look in Rabastan's eyes Mulciber understood, that the boy did not believe a word of Voldemort's explanation. But he still nodded.

"Outside the gates, near the rosebushes cut in the shape of a cat. At least that's where it was when I was there a couple of weeks ago."

Voldemort's smile grew cold and Mulciber silently prayed for his old friend to run.

 

If only he knew.

 

More or less at the same time as Noddy was leading Mulciber and Rabastan to the Dark Lord, a young woman arrived at the Lestrange Hall. She looked a little out of place, wearing light robes - and, well, her blond hair with blue endings would draw attention, if there was anyone around. Fortunately for her - or maybe she didn't even care? - there was no one. The evening was quiet, if somewhat cold. 

She looked at the mansion, smiled slightly and pushed the front gate, allowing the wards to probe her magic. After a second, she felt the tell-tale warmth around her, as the protective spells recognized her as a Lestrange and allowed her to come in.

Somewhere deep inside the house Aldric Lestrange felt the familiar pang of someone entering the property, stood up from his desk, reached for his wand and rushed out of his study, ready to dispatch the intruder. He stopped in the entrance hall, where the witch waited for him.

He blinked, pointing his wand at her.

"And who the hell are you?"

The woman smiled beatifically. There was something unsettlingly familiar about her, the facial expression, the cold insanity in her eyes. She looked... No, it cannot be.

"I'm..." She chuckled, as if amused by some joke he wasn't in on. "It's complicated, really. For now, all you need to know, is that you can call me Augurey, that we'll be family by marriage and that the Dark Lord will come here tonight to kill you. Is there anywhere we can talk?"

Honestly, all he wanted was to spell her three ways to Sunday and resume his quiet evening over another report from Azkaban. But curiosity won. Damn his bloody curiosity.

"There's a drawing room to your left," he said. She nodded and turned to step into the room he indicated, her back to Aldric, her hands nowhere near her wand. Still apprehensive, Lestrange followed her, his wand still pointed at her. After she sat on a small, decorative sofa, he took a place across from her.

"What do you want, Augurey?"

"I realize that what I'm about to tell you will be hard to believe. You probably wonder why your wards let me in, right? Well, to be completely honest, I wasn't sure if they would. I'm a Lestrange by name only. And I won't be born for another fifteen years."

Aldric blinked slowly, his mind processing the information.

"What...?"

She laughed quietly, looking at him with amusement.

"I'm sorry, I know it's a lot. But, frankly, I need to change what happens tonight and, well, I don't think my father will be overly receptive. So I've searched history books and found you. The man who dies tonight. Well, I also thought about Lucius Malfoy, I’m related to him more than to you but he’s just not smart enough. So you have to help me."

"No, no, stop. Girl, I don't know who you are and apparently there's a hole in my wards, but you're insane. Leave, before I have to make you."

"Listen to me! He'll come to kill you tonight. Then he'll go to kill the Potters, he believes that Harry is the child from the prophecy. And then he'll fall. Do you understand? Tonight is the night you all lose the war. You have to change this!"

Lestrange growled impatiently and rubbed his forehead. He had absolutely no idea, how to handle the insane girl - and there were wards to be seen to.

"Augurey..."

"Please. Take my memories, watch them in that Pensieve I know you have. Please, Aldric, I'm begging you. You can win! You can get Dolohov out in a matter of a week! Please, listen to me!"

Aldric pressed his lips together when she mentioned Dolohov. It was a low blow, he recognized it. But he was desperate and his efforts to get Antonin back weren't paying off. And he was starting to forget, how Anton's voice sounded like...

"Fine," he croaked finally. He snapped his fingers and an house elf appeared, startling Delphini. "Bring me the Pensieve from my study."

When the servant disappeared, Aldric looked at the girl coldly.

"If you're wasting my time, I'll kill you."

Smiling, she nodded.

 

Somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest an old centaur watched the stars shift in the night sky and wept bitterly.

 

Aldric came out of the Pensieve with his face ashen and eyes wild. Augurey smiled with understanding and handed him a cup of  thick, sweet coffee she had a house elf bring.

"Do you believe me now?" she asked quietly once he took a long gulp. The wizard's hands were still shaking when he put the cup away.

"I do. I do. Gods..."

"He can't kill the child personally. It's a prophecy with a trigger, if he marks the child, it will come true. Remember this, it's important. And leave Lily Potter alive or else Severus Snape will come to be the architect of the Dark Lord's fall. Do you understand, Aldric?"

Still speechless, he only nodded. With a satisfied look on her face, she gathered her skirt and stood up.

"I should go back, the time-turner... Well, I hope to see a completely new reality, you know? It's all on you now, Aldric. You have our collective fate in your hands. Don't screw it up, please."

She pecked the man on the cheek and left the room. After a moment, the main door of the house closed with a quiet squeak of the hinges.

Aldric kept sitting there, unmoved, staring at the Pensieve, still bubbling with Augurey's memories. Their future. Dear Salazar, their fucked-up future, their failure, their fall. His death. And almost no one mourned him.

Gods...

After a long while Aldric stood up and raised his wand. One by one, the protective wards around Lestrange Hall were tore down by their creator, leaving the mansion vulnerable. Then he sat down, the front door open wide open, and waited.

 

The Dark Lord had expected a trap.

He was prepared for a fight with his old friend, he expected it to be hard to push through the wards even with his immense power. But there were no wards. No tingle of magic in the air.

If it was someone else, Tom would have thought that they simply made peace with what was about to happen and decided to go out with dignity. But it was Aldric Lestrange. The man was goal-oriented and his goal of getting Anton Dolohov out of Azkaban hasn't been reached yet. He had a reason to live so he had a reason to fight for his life. But there were no wards and Tom could see that the front door to the mansion stood wide open, as if in an invitation. Cautiously, he started walking through the front garden, expecting to be attacked at any second. But no attack came.

"Please, come in, Tom," called Aldric from the drawing room. He's been waiting for the Dark Lord, that much has been obvious. The man's wand was on the table, next to an active Pensieve. "And before you do what you came here to do, hear me out."

"I suspect I owe you this much."

The Dark Lord sat on the sofa and Aldric smiled inwardly, thinking about the man's daughter who had left not long before, sitting in the same spot.

"I've had a visitor not long ago," he started. "A visitor who told me a story so baffling and so unbelievable, I almost called St. Mungo's because apparently a patient of theirs had escape. But she had memories. Real ones, you can examine them yourself. Actually, I believe you should, as they contain our future. Well, yours, really."

Tom's eyebrows twitched.

"I can't harm you while you're in the memory, Tom," sighed Aldric, looking suddenly very tired. "Just trust me this one last time and watch the damned things."

And Voldemort did.

When he resurfaced, his face was absolutely blank. Aldric smiled without any real mirth and handed Tom a glass of Firewhiskey. In a short moment, said glass was empty and the Dark Lord wordlessly indicated that a refill was in order.

"Shit."

"That's a proper reaction, I believe," muttered Lestrange. "I won't kneel to you, Tom. Not anymore. But if you decide to let me live, I'll serve you in those next days. We'll take what we want. Anton will be released into my care as soon as it is possible. And then, after we've won and the wizarding Britain is yours, we'll retire and be left alone, should we decide to. Is it agreeable, my Lord?"

Tom stood up and offered his hand to his old friend. Lestrange smiled, also raising from his armchair.

They shook hands and history trembled in its foundations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is.
> 
> Yes, there is a second part and it's mostly written: it needs editing and some rewrites so if you want to read it, leave a comment or kudos :)


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